


The path to Light

by Hiraelle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, canon is dead, honestly tom was just a disturbed child not an evil murderer at 11, maybe softer tom riddle than canon tom riddle, no need for a burial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-06 15:12:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17347505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiraelle/pseuds/Hiraelle
Summary: Albus Dumbledore made many mistakes in his life. One of them was letting Tom Riddle continue to raise himself. You don't just "observe" an 11-years-old child go down the path to darkness, Albus.Tom Riddle would never be the best, kindest man who ever lived. But when he entered the wizarding world, he was a child.A "what if" story, where Dumbledore acts like an educator and gets involved in giving Tom Riddle a chance.





	1. Prologue

Albus Dumbledore always had plans, and plans within plans. It was the way he was. He had first mapped out his life at the age of five, bright with magic and future. He would become the best wizard the world had ever known, leader of the magical world. A child's naive and self-important dream. He refined it when he grew older, hammered it, shared it with Gellert – with Grindelwald – and believed in it with all his soul and power.  
Then it all came crumbling down on the floor when Ariana did. Lifeless and a husk where once there had been brightness and magic, his plans – his dream, and Ariana both.  
He gave up on wanting power, on wanting to lead (even while he did, but oh, it was forbidden to want), but he always planned.  
When he looked Severus Snape in the eyes and pleaded, his life at an end, he had an idea of how the war was going to go. He had urged it that way, and he believed in the children he left behind. He had to, after all. He believed he had made mistakes, but he had done the best he could have done.  
He was right on one point. He had made mistakes.

*

He woke up in his old bed, in his mother's cottage in Godric's Hollow. The summer sun cascaded through is bedroom window (he always negliged to pull the curtains shut), ran on his books and parchments and interesting trinkets (his trash, according to his mother) and pooled on the wooden floor like liquid light. Lying lazily in bed, under his ravenclaw-blue sheets, he could almost think he was fifteen and bright and full of promises again. But he couldn't hear the morning birds that always used to chirp outside his window in the summer. He couldn't smell the fresh flowers his brother used to pick every few days and that Ariana disseminated in the house everywhere she wanted.  
He was old, and he was wizened, and he was alone. Not fifteen, full of dreams, but a hundred and fifteen, and he knew dreams always ended up crumpled on the floor in a yellow summer's dress.  
At least Tom's curse didn't follow him there. His hands were wrinkled with age and whole again. Not that he needed them where he was going, he expected, but he was relieved that the vile, awful magic didn't cling to him anymore. All the regrets and nightmares plaguing him were his own, and he carried them with practiced ease.  
There was a set of robes at the foot of the bed, but it had been left there by a boy who died long ago. It didn't feel right to take them. As he thought that, he was clothed, like something had felt his reluctance to take what was here. Or maybe he was the one who did it? He didn't know this place, as familiar as it felt, didn't know its rules, or indeed if there were any. He chuckled lightly, shaking is head. “Time to go”, he said, and waited. “I am ready”, he said, and waited. The room stayed unchanged. Maybe this wasn't just a place between places, like he had thought. Or maybe he still had things he needed to see here before he went on to the next great adventure.  
Or maybe he didn't know anything about what was going on and needed to explore.  
He went to the door and took a deep breath. He hadn't felt anticipation in a long time. The future wasn't bleak for him. There was no future. Tom seemed so far away here. Harry also, and at that he felt a twinge of guilt. Had he done all he could... ?  
But he could do no more. He was removed from the world now, and his plans within plans would go on without him.

The handle felt surprisingly real under his fingers. He realized he had expected it to dissolve into smoke. He opened the real? door and stepped into the real? hallway and went to the stairs. Now that he was out of his room, he felt something calling him from downstairs. He let his fingers trail on the wall (real! So real.) as he answered the call. The third step even creaked just as it should. Except for the smells and sounds that he didn't make, it was just like his home, even if it was only in his head. But then maybe that didn't mean that it wasn't real, after all. Every time he went down a step, he seemed to shed a regret, or a nightmare. He was almost free and happy when he got into the living room.  
Then he saw that he wasn't alone after all, and all his regrets and nightmares cascaded down the stairs and caught up with him and threatened to drown him again, for there perched on a chair next to the window was Ariana, in her favored yellow summer dress (that she had died – would die – had died in) (and it was his fault, his own fault). 

He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe (but he didn't need to anymore, did he? It was just an habit now), as his murdered sister looked at him, and she was so full of life, even there, in this place that was by essence lifeless.  
“Ariana... “ he whispered, and as she smiled at him his heart broke in pieces, and all the shards torn him from the inside. And he welcomed it, he deserved it, he had killed her, but there she was in front of him, and she wasn't fourteen and dead yet, she wasn't fourteen and dead anymore, she always would be fourteen and dead. But she did smile at him and the smile was life itself in this lifeless place, and was it really lifeless if Ariana was there and smiled at him?  
“Al,” and he had always hated that nickname but now he didn't know if there was anything he loved more, “you're there. I'm sorry you didn't change the world, after all.”  
She jumped from the chair and went to him in that half-dance step she always had when she was happy.  
He wanted to reply, but the shards from his heart seemed to be lodged in his throat. I'm sorry, he would have said. I'm so sorry, Ariana. It was my fault. I'm sorry you were forever fourteen and that I was so selfish and learned too late that I loved to have a sister. I'm sorry to have learned that you weren't a burden only when you were already dead.  
He swallowed the shards and tried. “I'm... so glad to see you, Ariana.” He clenched his hands. “I'm sorry. It was my fault.”  
She nodded. She didn't smile anymore, burdened by a sadness beyond her years. “Yes, it was, wasn't it? Not only your fault, but still.”  
He closed his eyes. He didn't deserve absolution, and he was almost relieved that it wasn't given to him. 

Ariana's hand came to rest on his own. “I forgive you, Al. You understood that you did wrong.It was too late, but you had a hundred years of torment, already. I won't add more.” She pressed her fingers to his. “I could. I won't forget what you and Gellert took from me. And from Aberforth. But you took from yourself too,even if I was the one who paid the highest price.” She smiled again. “I choose to forgive you.”  
She hugged him like she had as a child sometimes, and this time he let her, crying silently. That was absolutely more than he deserved. It was Ariana's choice, and he was so lucky.  
“You can't right this wrong, Al, but there is another child you badly failed.”  
He blinked, his mind refocusing sharply. “Harry?”  
She shook her head. “Yes, you did fail several children, didn't you? But I'm talking before that. Long before. Tom.”

He looked at her, uncomprehending. “He wasn't... “  
“He was a child. Not a good child by any means, but a child. Ask yourself, did anyone show him how to be better?”  
She waited for an answer, but he had none.  
“He was eleven and brilliant and alone, Al. Why didn't you try? Why did you give up on him? I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be strong and brave and true.”  
He shook his hand free of hers. “But I was right. Look at what he became. A monster.”  
“An eleven-years-old child is not a monster, Albus!” Her gaze pierced him, and her eyes were darker than he had ever seen. She didn't look fourteen. “You were wrong. You had to try. You were his chance, and you didn't try.”  
“He didn't want me to try.”  
“Of course he didn't. You should have tried anyway. You should have kept at it.”  
He took her by the shoulders. “It was after your time.”  
“It should have been my time.”  
He cruised past the guilt and the sadness and plowed on. “It was after your time. Why do you care so much about what I failed with Tom? Are you really Ariana? My sister?”  
She shook herself free and he let her. “I am, Albus. I also am more than your sister Ariana. I am not fourteen. I am fourteen years alive and ninety-eight years and an eternity dead. I am not who I was in 1899, but you aren't that either.”  
Her hands found his again.  
“I am here for myself. I am here for you. And I am here to give you a chance to right one wrong you did.”  
“Why Tom?” He sounded defeated even to his own ears. “Why can't I save you?”  
“Because it is not the choice I am offering you. You can go through the door of the cottage and move on, and I'll go with you. Or you can Floo elsewhere.”  
He looked at the chimney, and the flames were bright and strong, incongruous in the summer heat. He was sure there hadn't been a fire earlier.  
He was lost. It wasn't what he had planned.  
“I don't... I don't want to live my life again. I don't want to leave you. Again.”  
“Choose, Albus. You have all the time in the world, but it is running out.” She didn't seem to realize this didn't make sense. The rain battered the windows.  
He only had one choice, really. He gazed longingly at the door, and then reached deeply in his pocket to retrieve the Floo powder that he knew had appeared there.  
He locked eyes with Ariana. “I will do what is right, and not what is easy. The next great adventure will wait.”  
She smiled, and sunlight again flooded the windows. “Then I will go with you. And you will not live your life again. It doesn't work like that.”  
“How does it work?” He threw the powder into the flames, which turned sapphire blue.  
“You will see. Or maybe not. Maybe you don't need to.” She stopped him before he stepped into the flames. “Did you decide to help? Did you commit to this course of action? Do you choose to engrave it in your soul?”  
With every word she said, the colors bled from the room, leaving only the sapphire flames and them out of the black and white.  
“I do.” Albus said, and meant it. It was what Ariana wanted, and it was what was right.  
She nodded and pushed him into the flames. His world turned blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just the prologue now, but I have written 50k words in this universe for nanowrimo, I am committed. I "just" need to correct all that and plan it better, but this will absolutely be finished.  
> I would love it if you left nice comments and nice kudos, but above all I hope you enjoyed this and that you will stay for the real story to begin :)


	2. Year 1 Part 1

“Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton – sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you – well, I'll let him do it.”  
The skinny, anxious-looking woman left Albus and the boy sitting on the bed peering at him, his eyes narrowed, without another word, followed by a whiff of gin that hurried after her.  
Albus was shaken, for no discenrible reason, and he barely registered the boy still studying him in silence, quietly hostile. He was... He had come to introduce an orphaned muggleborn – Tom Riddle – to the wizarding world. He knew precisely that he had come straight from Hogwarts, for his appointment here at 2 p.m. sharp, and he remembered perfectly the conversation he had with the matron... And of course he remembered perfectly, why would he think he wouldn't, it had just happened?  
Why did it feel like he had forgotten something huge?  
He mentally shook himself. Now was not the time. The boy had closed his book and stood up, and looked at him even more warily. He had been silent too long.  
“... How do you do, Tom?” he extended his hand to the child. After a moment of hesitation, Tom shook it like it was an unpleasant but necessary task to do, and sat back on the bed, his back rigid as a plank. Albus took the chair and surveyed the room. Not much to look at. A bed, a wooden wardrobe and a wooden chair, obviously worn but well-cared for. All hard lines and bare, but at least spotlessly clean.  
“You're from the asylum, aren't you? She told you about me. I'm not going. I'm not mad!”  
Yes, he really had been silent too long.  
“Of course you're not mad, and I am not from the asylum,” he tried to soothe Tom. “I am Professor Dumbledore. I have come to offer you a place at my school.”  
Tom looked at him, plain disbelief on his face. “I don't believe you. Tell the truth!” His young voice rang true in the bare room, obviously accustomed to be obeyed. He felt a little push of magic in the air – it probably helped Tom to be obeyed by Muggles, though it wasn't strong enough to force them on his own. This and the conversation he (just) had with Mrs. Cole … He had a probably brilliant, but difficult, wizarding child in front of him. But only a child, he reminded himself, in an inner voice coming from very far away. And he was a professor. An educator.  
“I am not lying,” he said, calm and sure of himself. “I have come to offer you a place at a school of magic.”  
He smiled gently at the boy's eyes widening, something like happiness flashing through. “It's magic, what I can do?”  
“What can you do?” He asked, prudent. He already had a pretty good idea thanks to the matron, but he wanted to hear what Tom had to say. Maybe those incidents were accidents, even if it looked all too controlled for it.  
“All sorts of... magic.” He looked like he tasted the word, excited and fevered. “I can make filings move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them.” A cold smile. “I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”  
Albus' heart sank. Controlled, cruel magic then, as he thought. But. Tom was a child. The thought wouldn't leave him alone. A controlling, cruel child maybe, but nonetheless an eleven-years-old child in need of an education. And help, even if he would reject it if presented like that – he looked like he was far too proud to accept it, and even see the need. Like Albus was as a teenager, making plans with Gellert – and the comparison took him by surprise.  
And he had been silent too long again, but this time Tom hadn't even noticed, caught up in the discovery of magic.  
“I knew I was different. I knew there was something.” His fingers quivered. “I knew I was better.”  
“Well, you certainly are different. You are a wizard. But,” and Albus raised his hand to preventively quell any protests, “it does not make you by essence better than Muggles – non-magical people.”  
Tom obviously very much doubted that, but said nothing.  
“Are you accepting your place at Hogwarts?”  
“Of course I am!” he exclaimed with some disdain. “Who wouldn't? Are you a wizard too?”  
“Yes, I... “  
“Prove it!” And the commanding tone, the push of magic, were here again.  
“Tom.” Albus looked at him, his expression serious. “I am a Professor at the school you agreed to go to. You will address me respectfully, and not try to command me – in fact, not try to command anyone, even if this place.” Tom looked about to object at that. “This is non-negotiable. If you want this, you will have to make this concession. You, who want to be better – you are going to have to be better than you were.”  
Anger flashed in the child's eyes, and Albus thought he maybe went too far. Still, Tom needed clear rules, ideally rules he could respect, but this really was a point he needed to enforce.  
“Of course, sir.” Tom said in an unrecognizable voice, polite to the extreme and full of false obedience. This had not been a good move, and Albus sighed inwardly. “Pardon me. If you could show me some magic, sir... ?”  
“I would be happy to, Tom.” he said, voice soft. “It is always a good time to introduce children to magic.”  
He drew out his wand and conjured a wooden, painted figure. It was the size of Tom's hand and depicted him in Hogwarts robes, the school's crest painted in exquisite detail.  
Tom took it hungrily. “It looks like me, sir. Can I do that when I get a magic wand?”  
“Eventually, if you study well, you will be able to do that and a lot more. And indeed it is you, in the shool's uniform.” He tapped the crest. “This is the crest depicting the four Houses we have. When you are Sorted in one of them in September – you will find out how we do it then, and not before it's tradition – this will change to reflect your House, but in the meantime... “  
Tom opened his mouth, no doubt to ask more questions, but in his hands the figure crossed its arms and looked imperiously around.  
“It... It moved! Sir.” He tried very hard to hide his wonder.  
“Magical objects often do, you will find. And now,” he sighed and waved his wand again. The wardrobe rattled. “Are there objects in there that shouldn't belong to you?”  
The boy looked frightened, and clutched the figure in his hands. “It's possible, sir.”  
Albus shook his head. “Theft is not tolerated at Hogwarts. I trust that you will return the obects, apologize and not do that again.”  
Tom looked mutinous, but after a glance at his new toy (and Albus realized it was possibly the first object he possessed that had been just for him) he schooled his features and nodded.  
“Yes, of course, sir.”  
“Now,” Albus said brightly, and Tom jumped a little in surprise, then frowned at himself before trying to become expressionless, “for happier things.” He took an enveloppe from the inner pocket of his suit. “This is yours. Your admittance letter at Hogwarts, and the list of furnitures you'll need. We will go to get them soon.”  
“I can go myself, sir. I am used to do things by myself.” Tom said, the very picture of confidence.  
But Albus wouldn't budge. “I don't doubt like you are very capable. You seem like a bright young man.” Tom puffed up a little at being called a man, albeit young. “But I am afraid I can't permit ou this. You are a student at my school now, and it is my responsibility as your Professor to ensure your safety. We will go together two days from now, if you are free.”  
Tom still was carefully expressionless and said “Of course, sir” in a perfectly obedient voice, but Albus knew he wasn't happy about this. “I just have one question, sir. You said 'muggleborn' earlier... “  
“Muggleborns are witches or wizards who are born from Muggles, like you are.”  
This seemed to displease Tom. “But you don't know who my parents are. You don't know if one of them wasn't a wizard.”  
“That's, true, I suppose...” Albus conceded.  
“I'm sure my father was the wizard. If my mother was a witch, she wouldn't have died.”  
Something shimmered next to Albus at that, and slowly formed into Ariana. A pulse of surprise went through him.  
Well, of course he knew Ariana had came back as a ghost, even if she hid from his the first few years, but she was usually with Aberforth.  
“Witches die too, you know”, she chided Tom, who had lost his composure and crawled very far back into the wall next to his bed, the toy he still had been fiddling with falling to the floor.  
The boy shivered violently, the shock too much too keep his composure. “I, I, I... Professor!”  
Albus raised a hand. “I am sorry, I didn't know she would be there. Do not be afraid. Ghosts are not dangerous.”  
“I am not afraid!”  
It was obviously a lie, but it would serve no purpose to call it out. “This is my sister, Ariana. And yes, witches can die before their time.”  
He doubted that either of the parents of the child was magical, but it was obviously important to him. He seemed to look down on Muggles, and Albus could only hope that he could show him that he shouldn't. But now wasn't the time.  
Ariana was whispering to the boy now, and he progressively looked less afraid. Albus heard him whisper to her, “Will you come with the professor and I in two days?” and she looked surprised and uncertain, then shook her head. It wasn't surprising; Ariana didn't come near large groups of people.  
“I will wait for you in two days then, sir” Tom said to him, but he still watched Ariana.  
Albus nodded and raised to depart. “I will also answer any questions you might have.  
ou may use the time before then to prepare them.”  
“I can speak to snakes, sir.” Tom blurted. “Is that normal for a wizard?”  
It should have surprised him but curiously, it didn't. It is unusual, but not unheard of.” He hesitated. “It is usually inherited, so you may be right that one of your parents was magical.” A flash of pride in the child's face. “It is called parseltongue, and you are a parselmouth. It has a somewhat dark reputation, even if it is undeserved, so you may want to keep that particular talent to yourself.”  
He left then, his sister following him closely. “A curious child,” he murmured to her, “and you seem to have an interest in him?”  
“He's a lonely boy.” As was I, she didn't say. “Don't forget he's only a boy.”  
At that she disappeared again, and Albus looked at the space she had occupied, not noticing the Muggles around him giving him curious looks. Why would he forget? Ariana had always been strange, but this had been strange even for her. 

*

Tom was half-convinced the professor wouldn't come back. It was always the dim-witted, ordinary and Muggle children that got out of the orphanage. Adults found him cold and strange when he was little, he heard them not-so-subtly say to the helpers. Then he learned to lie. He was still never adopted. He figured Cole-the-cow warned them about him. She never had liked him and he couldn't fool her, as she had always known him.  
Not that he wanted those dumb Muggles (he liked the word, liked to sneer it in his head) for a family, but he wanted out of the orphanage more than anything. He had an out now, and he wanted magic more than anything.  
The morning of the second day after the professor's visit, he was ready to go. He paced in his room, too preoccupied to read. Nobody had told him when the professor was coming. Maybe it would be in the afternoon, like last time.  
Maybe he wouldn't come.  
But no, he had to believe he would. He was ready. He had his list, and hee had the wooden toy the professor had made appear out of thin air for him. It still moved. He patted it through his pants' pocket. It was probably weak and a bad idea to get attached to it, he was too old for a toy and possessions could so easily be taken.... like he had taken the other children's... and still, the toy was the first thing that had ever been only his. It wasn't a rich orphanage, if such a thing existed, and they got their clothes and toys mostly from charity, and then it was passed from child to child...  
He was only alone in his room because bad things happened if he shared. That he made happen, and Cole suspected but she couldn't prove anything, could she?  
Anyway he would just have to keep an eye on it just in case, and not show the professor that he liked to keep it close.  
The morning passed, and then he had to eat bland food with bland kids, and as usual he talked to no one. The professor would come, he thought as he fled to his room as soon as he was able to. He could have gone alone. He would already be there. No, he would have gone as soon as he could, not waited two days. And he really could have done it alone. It was ridiculous, he didn't need anyone.  
At least he hoped the ghost girl would come back. Life after death... That was interesting. Fascinating, even.

He startled when the professor knocked.  
“Hello, Tom.” He was still in his garish suit. Did the man have no concept of clothing that didn't want to make your eyes bleed? “Are you ready to go?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“Then let us depart.  
Tom followed him through the hallways he had walked all his life, wishing they could just hurry already. And the ghost girl wasn't there, or at least not yet. She had said no, but still he had hoped... He sighed, kept his pace measured, didn't complain. Soon he would see more magic.  
When they got out of the orphanage, the professor surprised him by going into an alley. Tom paused, uncertain. “Sir?” The man turned. “There's nothing back thre?”  
“Oh, I count on it, Tom. Follow me, please.”  
The man had showed him magic. Tom wouldn't trust him, but he would follow even reluctantly. He kept a wary eye on the professor and sneaked glances behind him as he did. Following strangers into back alleys wasn't a smart move, but he wanted everything and more of the world the professor had made him glimpse.  
Dumbledore took his arm and Tom made a move to flee, but it was too late. “Brace yourself, Tom. This is never easy the first time.”  
Before he could react to the ominous words, they twisted and he was squeezed unpleasantly and a scream got stuck in his throat, but then they were elsewhere and his am was free again.  
He took deep breaths and backed down a few steps. They were in front of a brick wall, some sort of pub behind their backs; he could hear the noise of the patrons. His arm was free again. The professor looked at him uneasily, which made him remember too late to keep the fear out of his face.  
“I am sorry, Tom. I should have warned you better.” he said in a quite contrite tone.  
Tom Riddle didn't take pity. “This is nothing, sir.” he said, straightening his back and raising his head. “Where are we?”  
Dumbledore dropped the subject, as Tom had hoped. “Ah. Behind this wall lies Diagon Alley.”  
Tom eyed the dirty bricks. Was that really a gate to this world of magic? The professor took out his want (he couldn't wait to get one of those; his whole body vibrated with want everytime he thought about it) and taped the bricks in a sequence Tom memorised just in case.  
They rearranged themselves, making a huge archway bustling with sound and light.

Tom didn't even feel his mouth drop open, didn't even see the professor looking at him caught in an open expression of wonder, he just drank the sight because this was the thing he had been thirsty for his whole life, and he hadn't even known. His world. His brithright.  
The street was bustling with people going about their business. They were even more weirdly dressed than the professor, and he re-assessed his evaluation of his suit. Wizards really dressed different, after all, so maybe he needed to reevaluate everything about clothes. He suppressed some uneasiness at seeing that even men wore what looked like fancy dresses and – cloaks? In summer? And he was there looking like a Muggle.  
He didn't take time to feel self-conscious, because there was too much to see. And anyway he'll demand of the professor to get clothes first – or ask, he supposed, thinking back on their first meeting.  
The street was full of shops with glinting trinkets, most of them recognizable even if somehow weird-looking, and some which he had no idea what they were. There was a bookshop in the distance, he noted with some trepidation, and he could only guess at what treasures of information about this world lay inside. If he had any money to buy them. Speaking of -  
“What about the money to buy everything on the list, sir? I don't have any.”  
“There is a fund for the education of orphaned children.” the professor replied like it wasn't humiliating – Tom had lived off charity his whole life, and for someone who wanted to be independent... It stung. “You will make use of that. It covers enough to buy all of your furniture, and we may go second-hand for some of them so you will have enough left for some extras.”  
Tom nodded. He doubted that there would be any left to buy every book he felt he would like. But Tom didn't believe in only learning out of books, anyway.  
The professor seemed to give him time to adjust, he realised. He warred briefly between annoyance and gratitude, and decided to bury both. If he was alone here, nobody would have seen him gaping and waited for him, but if he was alone here, in a foreign world... He was intimidated, he could admit in the secrecy of his thoughts, and a bit lost. He would have managed, and managed well, he was sure, but maybe having the professor with him wasn't the worst thing. For now.  
Not that he would ever tell the man that.  
He cleared his throat. “I'm ready, sir. Maybe we could go for clothes... ?”  
The professor irritatingly twinkled at him, and how did he do that anyway? He had tried to go for a nonchalant tone, but he got the feeling that his uneasiness about not fitting in here had been read like an open book. “Of course, Tom. If I may suggest, you could get your clothes second-hand, so you would have school robes and casual robes.”  
Robes, not dresses, then. It was tempting to save money that way, but appearances were important...  
“One new set of school robes and the rest second-hand, sir.” he decided quite imperiously, but the professor only assented. Apparently he could decide himself how to spend the money. That was good. “How many money is there?”  
As the professor took him to a shop called Malkin's Wizarding Wear, he explained to him how wizarding money worked, how much he needed, and that they could go secondhand for a lot of things but absolutely not for a wand (a wand of his own!), and Tom found himself following and being swept up.  
They did end up buy most things secondhand, the ones that didn't look much like they were used anyway (he didn't want any kid to know he couldn't afford brand new), bought his school books and some supplemental books about the wizarding world (“to not look like a fool” had said Tom, and the professor had looked chagrined at his choice of words but had been a good help in selecting them, he had to admit).

And then finally.  
Finally.  
The wand shop.  
It wasn't much to look at. The other shop windows had been bright and full, and here there was only a wand on an old cushion. The sign said, “Ollivanders, since 382 B.C.” and he got the impression that the wand and the cushion had been here since then, even as he knew it was silly.  
Still, he knew that something momentous was about to happen in this shop. He would get his wand, and he would do great things, the greatest things ever to be done by any wizard. Even if the professor had told him that he couldn't use his wand and that it would be best if he refrained his use of not-so-accidental magic (were the other children really incapable to control it?), he felt his fingers tingle in anticipation. He wouldn't break the rules about no magic, the professor had been very clear that the authorities would know about it, and he knew about the Trace now, and he wouldn't risk being expelled. He didn't know how to circumvent the Trace yet, after all, and he chafed at the restrictions, but he had no choice but to obey for now. 

The professor touched a bell on the counter, and Tom didn't hear it ring but it must have worked, since a middle-aged man came from the back of the shop. He was tall and muscular, and his robes were somewhat dusty. He didn't even greet his customers, going straight to business instead.  
“Hogwarts, right.” he said to Tom. It wasn't a question, so he didn't answer. “I trust you don't need another wand, professor.” His smile for Dumbledore was full of warmth, and to Tom's surprise, the professor slightly blushed – he blinked, and the blush was gone, but he knew what he had seen.  
“Indeed I don't, the one your mother fitted me with is still very adequate.”  
Tom heard the man mutter “It's the best, not adequate” while he took measurements that seemed random (how did his nostrils matter for a wand?). “Wand arm?” This was addressed to him. He extended his right arm. It was immediately measured and even palped lightly, to his slight disgust. He didn't like people touching him. Especially not strange men twice his size.  
“Yes, yes, I see, that's quite enough.” he threw the measuring tape over his shoulder and it floated back under the counter. He went to rummage the boxes at the back, mumbling to himself and with purpose, even if Tom couldn't imagine what he had seen in him. It made him uncomfortable.  
The professor had found an armchair that Tom hadn't noticed (or maybe it had made it appear?) and was soflty humming while looking outside the window. Tom was glad for the appearance of privacy, as he tried wand after wand, sometimes snatched out of his grasp before he even waved them.  
“No, not unicorn hair, certainly not,” after he made the temperature drop like they were in winter, “dragon heartstring is entirely too temperamental for you,” after he touched a wand that made his hand cramp even before he waved it, and many more. He even felt the novelty that dragons and unicors and phoenixes existed wear off.  
He firmly refused to worry that he wouldn't find a wand. He wasn't worried. Still, Ollivander had gone back to fetch more boxes and there was a huge pile at his feet. The professor was still humming at the window, like no time had passed at all.  
At least there was nobody else who came for a wand right now.  
Ollivander came back with two boxes, something like excitement on his face. “I made these ones quite recently. Twin wands, you could say, as their cores are the two phoenix feathers you gave me, Albus.” Another warm smile was shot the professor's way.  
“Indeed? Very interesting. I trust any feather that came from Fawkes would make a good wand.”  
“You have a pet phoenix?” Tom asked, way too awed for his taste. He frowned, but already Dumbledore was smiling at him.  
“A phoenix is more a companion than a pet. Fawkes has chosen to honor me with his companionship.”  
“Anyway.” said Ollivander, obviously impatient to try his “twin wands”. “I thought those would go to a pair of twins, but I don't suppose you have one? Pity.” Tom didn't comment. “Try the yew one.”  
He picked it up, and immediately felt light and warm and powerful. He knew it was the one, and when he waved it he made a shower of gold-and-silver sparks. He turned on himself, sparks flying everywhere, and forgot to keep his cool as he laughed with happiness and relief to have found his wand. He had thought of a wand as a mere tool in the last two days, but now, surrounded in gold and silver and laugh and an alive wand in his hand, he knew that he had been wrong.  
The professor clapped, and he blushed, a little ashamed of his obvious display of raw emotion. He was happy, still, and he felt bereft when Ollivander took back the wand to put it in its box, not to be touched until September.  
“An very unusual combination, and a very powerful wand. Congratulations, Mister Riddle. You will do great things.”  
He nodded, acknowledging this as fact, and the professor paid for the wand as the boxes rearranged themselves, and lead him outside.

“When you get to Hogwarts, I will want to see you in my office at 3 pm on the first Saturday, Tom.”  
Tom was annoyed. “Do all the new students come to your office? I don't need it, sir.” He didn't. He was being perfectly reasonable, and the professor was overbearing.  
“The other students usually have a family who know about their magic – even those who don't have parents.” This was rather blunt, but true as far as Tom knew. “I wish there to be at least someone interested in how you adapt to the school and magic.”  
“I don't need it, sir.” Tom repeated. “I am capable. I don't want others to think I need help.”  
“I somehow doubt you will tell them where you go.” This was true. “I won't talk about it with other students, Tom. Think of it as something that could help your academic excellence – yes, I have no doubt you will excel with or without my help, but you may get there faster with it.” Tom preened a little, his pride soothed at the praise. He didn't notice that the professor was laying it on a bit thick.  
“I will also ask Ariana to come. Today was a little busy for her, I'm afraid.”  
Tom knew that he was being bribed, but he nodded.  
“I will arrange for someone from the orphanage to take you to the train station on September 1st and leave immediately. Platform 9 ¾ is behind the barrier between Platform 9 and 10, just walk through it.” He instructed, and Tom nodded. It was simple enough.  
“Take my arm, and I will take you back to the orphanage. You may want to put your cloak in your bag before then.”  
A turn, and a twist, and they were back in the dreary boring Muggle world.  
He couldn't wait for September.

*

He left the Muggle world behind without a thought, and stepped into the barrier between platforms (worlds) his eyes wide open. He was early ; as he couldn't wait to get rid of the Muggles, the Muggles couldn't wait to get rid of him. The train was already there, glinting red paint and steel, full of promises of a magical school. There was almost nobody on the platform, and Tom was glad of it, even if he drew a few looks, and he knew what they saw – a boy alone, in Muggle clothing, a new Muggleborn for sure, inconsequential and forgettable. It made him seethe but he ignored it and pushed his trolley towards the train. His trunk was too heavy to permit him to haul it onto the train without help, but he could do magic now that he was on the platform, without repercussions, the professor had promised, and Tom had studied and studied his books until his eyes hurt and the words swirled on the page, and he had a steadfast certainty that he could perform any magic he wanted perfectly.  
It took him four tries to cast the featherlight charm on his trunk, and he swore quietly after each failure. He thought it wasn't bad for his first time casting magic with a wand, but he had wanted perfection.  
He would apply himself, and work, and get to perfection, if it wasn't to be handed down to him.  
He was still disappointed in himself, but as he took his trunk on the train without difficulty, he couldn't help but feeling a little giddy. He had cast a spell!  
All the compartments were empty, so he picked one randomly and immediately changed into his new set of school robes. Looking properly like a wizard now, he took out a book but set it in his lap and elected instead to watch his future classmates and their parents through the window.

Slowly, as the time drew closer to eleven, the train started filling up, other children finding friends, and Tom hoped nobody would come onto a compartment occupied by an unknown first-year. He tried to look intimidating every time anyone came close, and thought he had succeeded, but another first-year took one look at him, shrugged and came intside.  
“Hello. I hope I am not a bother, but I really don't want to sit with my sister.” The boy was smaller than Tom, with brown hair and a strong nose, and his robes were obviously of the highest quality. Maybe it wouldn't be bad to play nice with the rich kid. Tom knew he was superior at the orphanage, but here, surrounded by wizards...  
A small part of him whispered that maybe now that he wasn't the strange weird one with the unexplainable things about him, he could make a friend, but he smothered it. Tom Riddle didn't need friends, thank you very much.  
The boy had sat already, obviously not thinking that he could really be a bother that could be denied. “I am Alphard Black, son of Pollux Black, pure-blood for a whole lot of generations”, he said in a bored voice. “My father said I should only take to pure-blood children, so I really hope you're a halfblood or a - “ and he paused before whispering in fascination “muggleborn.”  
Tom had felt his eyebrows raise higher during that whole introduction. “Shouldn't you do what your father says?” he asked, testing the waters. Of course you should do as you wanted and not as the adults wanted you to do.  
“When I am in his home and he is actually there, yes. When it's just Mother and me, or just me, and Walburga is elsewhere occupied, he doesn't have to know.” Tom supposed that Walburga was the sister he mentioned. “I haven't seen you before, and I know all the good pure-blood kids you have to know in our society.” he said in a pompous voice, and made a face. Tom actually had to suppress a smile, even as jealousy gripped him. He was better than everyone else even here, he was certain, and he would prove it.  
“I am not a pureblood, so, brilliant deduction.” he said a little shortly.  
The boy didn't take offense. “Oooh, I hope you are a muggleborn. I have never seen one.”  
It was a little disturbing. Like he was a specimen, one of the butterflies pinned on a board that one of his former teachers had shown the class once. That boy had obviously seen even less of the Muggle world that Tom had seen of the wizarding world, and that made him feel a little better about the situation. Even if the Muggle world really was nothing interesting, this boy thought it was.  
“I'm a halfblood. But...” he let a little suspense build. “I was raised in the Muggle world.”  
He had thought about hiding it, but thinking about it, it would be known anyway. The wizarding world was small, and he didn't know enough about it to pass as wizard-raised. And Tom loved being the center of attention, and this got Alphard's full attention.  
“It's not really interesting” he shrugged, downplaying it. “This is a lot better.”  
Alphard waved. “But you know about things like,” he lowered his voice like he said something forbidden, “eclecticity... and machines that fly without magic! How does it work?”  
Tom frowned. “It's called electricity. And airplanes.” Alphard mouthed the words as he continued, “And I don't know how it works, you need to be a scientist to make these things.” Alphard mouthed the word “scientist”. Was the wizarding world that removed from the Muggle one?  
“Oh.Well. You still know a lot more than me.” Tom nodded; it was true after all. “I didn't even ask your name. It was rude. I am sorry. Can we do that again?”  
Alphard got up, all proper politeness, and extended his hand.  
“I am Alphard Black, and you are?”  
Tom stood up, and clasped the offered hand, like an equal.  
“I am Tom Riddle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little less "poetic" than the prologue, but the prologue setting fit my lyrical tendencies better - now we are grounded in the real world. I hope you still enjoyed it! I would love nice comments and nice kudos :)
> 
> I have mapped everything out roughly now, and I think this fic will cover up until the christmas of year three, so don't expect a 100k-words fic! It is my first multi-chaptered fic in English, I will try my best to make it the best one I can make.
> 
> Next chapters will be a little longer in coming maybe, I have more to edit in them.


	3. Year 1 Part 2

Alphard was more tolerable than the kids he had been used to, Tom decided as the train pulled into the station. He had unfortunately been unable to stop some chitchat (mostly on Alphard's part), but for the most part he had been able to read in peace. He also got informed that Slytherin was the best House (he happened to agree), that Quidditch was awesome (after a brief description Tom decided that it sounded like something he had to avoid, he didn't fancy a Bludger to the head who knew how many feet in the air), and watched Alphard eat sweets from the trolley he couldn't afford while he pretended to read (Alphard hadn't offered any, and Tom would have declined anyway, because he wouldn't take any more charity than he absolutely had to). And now...  
Now they were in sight of Hogwarts, and it took Tom's breath away. He glanced a little at the others, but to his relief all the younger years looked awestruck, so it should also be a wonderful sight for wizardborn kids.  
The castle was perched above a huge lake, illuminated by the setting sun. It was the biggest human construction Tom had ever seen, and probably the oldest; he couldn't believe this was a school, in real life, and that it happened to him. The towers cut a sharp line against all the colors of the sunset – red, yellow, pink illuminating the scene, and he could see some activity around one of them – probably birds? Wizards used owls to send letters, he knew that much (and when the time came, he would bravely use an owl too, and go near those sharp talons... but he didn't need to do that just yet). And the lake below looked mysterious and deep, lights shimmering above and under the surface, and if he squinted he could see some movement in its depths... He wondered which creatures lived there.

He was torn from his contemplation by a voice bellowing “First years, to the lake! First years, hurry up!”  
He was a little afraid to go on the huge lake, and the boats didn't look very solid, he hadn't ever traveled by boat, but he'd be damned if he showed it to anyone. He was one of the first ones to climb in a boat and he sat down very quickly (and not because he almost fell, but because they had to be seated anyway). They were four to a boat, and Alphard soon sat down besides him (did he think they were friends now? He was tolerable, but Tom had barely spoken to him). They were joined a little after that by two other first years who looked like they were brother and sister; they were both small and redheaded.  
He did feel a little out of his depth, he thought as the boats started moving on their own and he turned to see the upper years go into carriages that had no horses attached to them.  
He vaguely heard Alphard say “I'm Alphard Black, and this is Tom Riddle.” and nodded to the redheads huddled against one another.  
“I'm Mary Prewett, and this is my brother Oliver.”  
“We're halfbloods.” said the boy, looking crossly at Alphard. “You have a problem with that?”  
Tom shifted his attention to the unfolding scene and Alphard shuffled. “No! I know other halfbloods!”  
Tom stayed silent, looking at all of them in turn. This sounded like dynamics he didn't know about, but should, and the faster the better.  
“The Blacks don't consort with other than purebloods, your dad said to my mom when she chose dad.” The twins stared at Alphard. “So I doubt that you know other halfbloods.”  
“Tom's a halfblood, and I like him! He is my friend.” Tom startled at that. “Also Father is an ass.” He covered his mouth in horror. “Please don't tell anyone I said that.”  
Mary snorted and Oliver giggled, and the tension was a little defused.  
“You are weird for a Black, and a bit of an idiot” Mary said offhandedly, “but maybe you're alright.”  
Alphard had looked put out at the “idiot” part, but he smiled tightly. “I try to be alright” he said, voice soft, and the rest of the boat ride passed in companionable silence at least, Tom processing everything that was and wasn't said all the while.

*

Albus met the first-years in the entrance hall of the castle, as every deputy headmaster had done before him. It always was a joyous occasion, to see the little faces open in wonder as they stepped foot into Hogwarts for the first time, and this time was no exception. Even Tom Riddle looked his age at this moment, his eyes latching hungrily on everything around him.  
Surprisingly, there was a boy whispering in his ear, and Tom let him – the son of Irma Crabbe and Pollux Black, if Albus guessed right. He looked a lot like his mother; light brown hair and strong nose, and not the aristocratic and dark features of Pollux Black. He could only hope that he wasn't whispering his father's blood purity ideas to Tom, who already looked down on Muggles, but the fact that he was willing to speak to an unknown muggleborn or halfboold was a good sign. He had already resolved to keep an eye on Tom anyway. He would watch closely how that beginning of a relationship influenced the boy.

In the meantime, he still had a job to do. “Greeting, first-years, and welcome to Hogwarts!” he beamed, as most of the children focused on him. “This is a place of magic and of learning, but most of all a place that will be your home for the next seven years. Whether you end up being a Gryffindor, doing what is right, a Hufflepuff, doing what is kind, a Ravenclaw, doing what is wise, or a Slytherin, doing what is necessary, we will open to you the gates of the art of magic.” They looked at him, fascinated and impatient and anxious, and all so young. “I am sure you will all make fine students. Now, follow me to the Great Hall, please.”  
He led them through the doors, exclamations and pointing fingers in his wake, as they discovered the magic ceiling which was proudly displaying the setting sun and the beginning of night, the long house tables where their future housemates were waiting for them, the house ghosts (those were always the cause of most shrieks), and the Sorting Hat waiting on a stool.  
To be fair, they probably weren't awed by the Hat, mostly perplexed, it did look rather ratty, as it had when Albus himself had put it on.  
There were again gasps as the Hat moved, a large mouth appearing on his front, and it started to sing.  
Albus sighed happily. Music was a gift. He let the song wash over them, welcoming the students in its way, and took out the long roll of parchment with the students names. The one that interested him the most was near the end. He wondered where Tom Riddle would be sorted. His calculating nature and to an extent his parseltongue strongly suggested Slytherin, but Ravenclaw was a good bet as well. The boy wanted to learn magic with all his being. Still, he wanted to learn for the purpose of being great and powerful, and that again pointed to Slytherin. It was sadly always harder for a muggleborn, or muggle-raised in any case, to thrive there. If he did end up sorted there, and the chances of this were great, Albus would have to be extra careful – and the young Black would probably be a Slytherin, so if that relationship developed in a good way... He stopped listening to the song and tried to speculate on what could happen, based on what he knew and mostly what he could guess.  
Applause burst as the Hat finished its song, interrupting his planning. Wherever Tom ended up, Albus thought, he would make sure he was there for the boy, he had sworn it to Ariana. (… Did he? He didn't remember when. In any case, it was the right path.)  
Then he forgot his doubts and called the names.

*

He had got Slytherin, as he had hoped. Unfortunately, it had all gone donwhill from there. Now in the safety of his bed, curtains drawn, he allowed himself to let his anger show on his face, instead of the calm indifference he had been projecting all evening.  
“Riddle? That's not a wizarding name.” some nasty upper-year had sneered, looking down at him. “Who are your parents?”  
I don't actually know. “That's none of your business” he had said hautily instead, and the other had had the gall to laugh.  
“Nobodies, then. Mudblood.” and like that he was dismissed. He didn't know what “mudblood” meant, but he could guess.  
“I'm a halfblood” he had said, too late, and the upper-year had snorted.  
“Whatever you say.” and he had actually moved to pet his head, like a dog, but Tom had concentrated and the other had retracted his hand swiftly, stung. He had narrowed his eyes at Tom then, about to say something, but the altercation had gotten the attention of a prefect.  
“Watch your mouth, Abraxas.” she had said, towering above him (if only because he was seated, she was actually quite small). “I can't believe you say you want to be a prefect. Blood isn't everything, and you only have blood.”  
Abraxas had laughed it off dismissively, but had backed off.  
“I'm Olivia Petterson” she had said, extending her small, dark hand to him. Her nails were impeccably done in golden nail polish. “I'm sorry about this. Slytherin should be about excellence, not about who your parents are.”  
He should have taken the offered hand, but he had been shaken and angry, too angry to cultivate profitable relationships. Stupid.  
“I don't need your help” he had hissed instead, and she had shrugged and gone away.

Alphard had been uncharacterically quiet all the while. It wasn't a good move to be openly defending the Mudblood, after all.  
“I'm sorry” he had said afterwards, “but Abraxas wouldn't have listened, and he's tight with my sister, and if it got to Father that I was taking your side against a Malfoy...”  
“I don't need your pity” Tom had interrupted. “I can handle myself. I don't need to be coddled.”  
He had not said another word, and had gone to bed as soon as he could.  
He would make the best of it, and show everyone that he was a better wizard than they could ever hope to be. He would tower over them, he would make them acknowledge...  
He fell asleep then, half-formed promises of vengeance floating in his head.

If he was cold to Alphard after that, it wasn't like he had no reason to. 

Classes in the first week all went the same way, the professors hooking them up with some words about how their domain was great, sometimes a demonstration (Dumbledore had Transfigured his desk and all that was on it into a bear on top of which was perched colored birds, and it had been very showy; Tom was reluctantly impressed), and then laid the basics.  
Herbology had been fun, they had gotten to play in the dirt, and he had acted all dignified while other boys were giggling about how dragon dung was used as a fertilizer, but it had been funny, and he had carefully kept his head down, looking at some harmless plant (the truly interesting ones were only seen in Fifth year and up, an Hufflepuff had told the class at large, before behing silenced by the Herbology professor, a man so old that Tom wondered if there wasn't any retirement for wizards).  
They didn't have Flying class until the second week, something that made some other Slytherins loudly complain, but Tom had been privately relieved.  
And now he had to go to the dreaded “check-up” with Dumbledore. At least, no one would miss him. In the past week, he hadn't talked to anyone much, and nobody would wonder where he was. He didn't have to tell anyone that one of the professors, who wasn't even his Head of House, thought he needed special care and attention.  
Hopefully he could put a stop to it.

*

Dumbledore had half-expected Tom not to show up, and Ariana not to shimmer in. But Ariana had materialized between a blink and the next, and there was a reluctant knock at his door perfectly on time. He willed the door open to let the boy enter.  
“Good afternoon, Tom. Lemon drop?”  
Tom eyed the bowl with its neverending supply of yellow treats, but did not move to take one. Few students ever did. “I am here as you asked, sir.”  
“Excellent. Please sit. How are your classes?”  
“They are fine, sir. I will do well.” He sat rigidly in the chair, his hands folded in his lap, obviously unwilling to give away anything judging by his blank face, but he kept sneaking glances at Ariana floating softly in a corner, and sometimes at the bowl of lemon drops.  
“I trust you will” he agreed amiably. “As your professor, your academic performance is a concern of mine, obviously, but I do think you show promise in this area. I suppose that you started practicing magic as soon as you were able to.”  
Tom nodded.  
“How did you find it?”  
The blank façade cracked a little as passion and hunger for learning shined through. “It was... Interesting, sir. Magic with a wand feels different than magic without, and still it's also... the same.”  
Albus smiled. “Yes. It's the difference between magic channeled to a wand – or another artifact – and magic coming directly from you to affect the world, but in any case it is your magic.”  
Tom shifted in his seat. Albus could tell that he wanted to be independent, but his desire to talk about magic was strongest than ever.  
Still, Tom didn't trust him, and he quieted.  
Albus had to give, give, and give, if he wanted the boy to give him an inch, and he had to fight to be involved in his life, but not too hard or he would make him flee. Steady and always present.  
“If you want to know more about the nature of channeled magic versus non-channeled magic, I believe you can ask the librarian to direct you to relevant books.”  
“I will think about it, sir.”  
He would probably look for those books without help. Merlin forbid an adult knew about what mattered to him.  
“Of course, I am available to you if you wish to discuss it. I am quite talented in various areas of magic.”  
“Of course, sir” Tom smiled, his face the absolute picture of politeness and sincerity. All false, of course, but Albus had to make the offer.

“I won't keep this conversation up more than necessary, but I will ask of you that you come back regularly here to discuss how you adapt.”  
“With all due respect, sir...”  
Albus raised his hand. “I wasn't finished, Tom. As you may know, parents of muggleborn students are made aware of the existence of magic. We can't do that with an institution like your orphanage, so your report card can't be sent to them – we will send one that looks perfectly Muggle instead. You need a wizarding adult to supervise your education, as a parent or a relative would do for another child, but... “  
“But I have none.” Tom's face had become more and more closed the more Albus talked. He didn't like where this was going. Albus didn't know if this was the right move either, but he felt he needed to be involved, not just stay afar and observe Tom, or else who knew what the cold child could become? He didn't know where that certainty was coming from, and still it urged him to act and he found no reason to not listen to his instincts.  
“As deputy headmaster, it is my role to be your wizarding proxy, the person to oversee your progress and your grades.”  
Albus folded his hands and waited. If Tom decided to reject him wholly now, he may have moved too fast.  
“Like a guardian?”  
“I would have no legal custody of you, so I won't be your guardian.”  
“Wouldn't this role be usually filled by my Head of House? I'm not a Gryffindor, sir.”  
And Tom had probably already inferred that Horace would be way easier to charm than Albus, and would overlook a lot of things.  
“He is your Head of House, but I am more familiar with your situation.”  
Albus watched as Tom realized he didn't want someone else to be appraised in details of his “situation”.  
“I suppose you are right, sir. May I speak with Ariana? I want to ask her questions.”  
Albus smiled. “Of course. I will leave you two. Please don't touch anything.”  
Ariana would probably tell him if Tom disobeyed – and in any case, the child would assume that she would.  
And he had carefully locked or charmed anything that he didn't want to be seen.  
Tom looked surprised that he would leave them in privacy, but he had been well enough pushed for today. Albus had to give.  
“Do not worry about leaving the door unlocked when you are finished, nobody can enter any of my rooms without my knowledge.” he said cheerfully as he exited, leaving Tom to file that information away and to discuss with Ariana.  
He was curious to know what he wished to ask, and what Ariana would respond, but he would refrain from listening in.

*

He would have been lonely if it wasn't for Ariana. He didn't call her “the ghost girl” anymore, even in his head. She was Ariana, and she was the closest he had to a friend. She came to see him from time to time, always when he was alone (and he was often alone). 

Ariana was surprisingly there for a ghost. He had watched the others, and often they had a somewhat vacant look, and when he tried to talk to them (except the Bloody Baron; he wasn't afraid of course, at most a little wary, he would just rather keep his distance) he got ignored or they tended to repeat themselves a little. Maybe they were older?  
What did older mean for a ghost? Did they lose something with more and more time passing?  
Muggles could not come back as ghosts, Ariana told him. She didn't know why it was so, but thought it was doing with the fact they didn't have magic. It was possible magic was required to make an imprint of yourself on the world.

He could talk with her – really talk. He could ask about death. Death had always been a companion to him; his mother was dead, and once there was a girl at the orphanage who had gotten sicker and sicker, until there was nothing left of her. He had always been afraid of dying, but after that, it wasn't an abstract fear anymore.  
Seeing a ghost, knowing there was an afterlife of sort at least for wizards; that had reassured him.  
“I want to become a ghost when I die” he told Ariana once.  
“You shouldn't.”  
He frowned. “Why? You're still here.”  
“It is hard. I have purpose here, so it is bearable but I miss...” She did what could have been a sigh if she had any air to exhale. “I miss touch. I remember it sometimes. I miss my magic. I miss... everything that made life, life.”  
“But you're here. You talk to me. It's something.”  
“It's a memory of life. Nothing more. I have purpose here; but when it is done I will gladly move on.”  
He frowned. “Move on where?”  
She smiled at him. “Elsewhere. I already died anyway. I am not afraid.”  
She wouldn't elaborate. She wouldn't elaborate on what purpose she was talking about either.  
It was irritating. But time after time, he asked and asked about death, and sometimes about life.

*

He double-checked his bag and left the dormitory. They had Potions first, with their Head of House, a round enthusiastic man around thirty years of age by the name of Horace Slughorn. He hadn't made much of an impression on Tom, and Tom hadn't made much of an impression on him yet. His potions were good, but not yet perfect, and it was only the first year. He would make an impression eventually, he was sure.  
He worked on it, anyway, not for Slughorn but for himself.  
The Potions professor had greeted the first-year Slytherins that first day, had made a fuss about an embarrassed Alphard (“such an honor to have another Black in my House! But of course, your family has always been at home in the dungeons, I myself was a good friend of your uncle in our young days!”), and was carefully neutral to the others. Apparently Slughorn liked to collect “the best and brightest”, and he obviously thought blood mattered.

Tom didn't want to be collected, but if it was a proof of status somehow, he would bear it. He didn't have any doubt that he would prove himself worthy of collection.

Potions class wasn't far. He was the first one there, and he chose a spot around the middle of the class. The classroom slowly filled, Slytherin green and Gryffindor red (he spotted the twins from the boat, who took a bench at the back). Alphard shot him an hesitant look and then plopped down next to him.  
“Hi.” He took out expensive parchment and expensive quill and expensive inkwell, like it was a natural thing to do, like they had spoken to each other in the past month.  
Tom frowned at him and didn't answer. He took out inexpensive parchment and inexpensive quill and inexpensive inkwell and arranged them meticulously.  
Alphard leant towards him, blocking his view. “I try to be alright.” he said, forcefully but low enough that he wouldn't be heard by the other children. “Father would have a fit if I sided against a Malfoy, but Mother wouldn't care, and Father is never there anyway, and then after that I was ashamed and didn't know how to talk to you.” He took a deep breath. “I made a mistake. Can we be friends?”  
Tom never had a friend. He still didn't quite see the purpose, but he was willing to have allies.  
“Sure” he said, a fake smile in place. “Friends.”  
He was then saved from small talk by Slughorn's entrance.

* 

He had told Ariana he would definitely come back as a ghost, when he died. Ariana had told him that he shouldn't think about his death, still had many more years to live, wizards lived longer than Muggles, but it was a little hypocrite of her, wasn't it? She was barely older than he was.  
Maybe if he came back as a ghost he could think of a way to come all the way back, in the worst-case scenario.  
This comforted him.  
Lost in thoughts, he looked up to see that he had wandered to the Lake, the Forbidden Forest not that far to the right.  
He went to his knees and ran his fingers through the cold water at the shore. What magical creatures lived in this Lake? He had heard of the Giant Squid already, and sometimes through the underwater windows of the Common Room he could have sworn he saw a mermaid passing by.  
He cast his eyes on the Forbidden Forest. It was enticing, precisely because it was called Forbidden. Full of dangers and treasures, he was sure.  
And behind him he felt the presence of the thousand-years-old magical castle.  
Tom didn't often feel small, but there, between those three ancient magical places, he was acutely aware he was only a small child.  
He always felt angry when he felt small, lashing out, but those places were magic. He was magic. He belonged.  
And he would explore and learn all of them, and uncover their secrets, and he would become brilliant.  
He smiled, and it wasn't calculating or cold like so many of his smiles, but content and comforted.  
Magic.  
He would learn all magic, all the magical secrets, he would bury death, and rise above all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to keep the usual "shopping scene" to a minimum and not take too long; I thought about cutting it out entirely because we've read that diagon alley scene a million times with Harry already (at least I have), but I thought it was important to show it with Tom.
> 
> As always, nice comments and nice kudos are very welcome!


	4. Year 1 Part 3

Practicing magic was wondrous. It came naturally to him, and he earned the praise of his professors, and either respect or jealousy from his classmates. It turned out purebloods who believed in blood purity didn't take kindly to being overshadowed by a halfblood of dubious origins.  
Time flew, between classes and essays, barbed remarks from Malfoy and his group, his meetings with Dumbledore (he couldn't seem to shake the man off, but at least he mostly left him alone, and a few times he had answered some questions about magic in interesting ways), and he never had time for all he wanted to do.

They were at the start of December now, snow covering the grounds and the Lake frozen over, and he had made no progress in uncovering the secrets of Hogwarts or on finding who is father was. He had looked several times in the trophy room, but there was no award bearing the name “Tom Riddle”.  
Maybe his father hadn't been a wizard at all, after all. Maybe he really was a Muggleborn.  
But no – Dumbledore had told him that his parseltongue was hereditary. If he couldn't find anything about his father, maybe his mother had been the witch.Or he could research parseltongue? He could try poking around in the library, but it was huge and he had no idea where to start.  
He sighed. So many things to do, so little time.

“Having trouble with your essay, Riddle?” Malfoy loomed over him, his smug face more an annoyance than a threat. He did have to tread carefully, but Slytherin valued greatness, not necessarily blood. And he had already proven he may be shaping up to be great.  
“Actually, I finished it.” he smiled sweetly. “Professor Slughorn is hosting an event next week-end, did you receive your invitation?”   
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. “You insinuate he invited... you?”  
Tom feigned surprise. “Well, of course. I never did have any doubts he would.”  
Actually, Slughorn had moved way faster than he had anticipated. Tom was already at or near the top of his classes, but it had only been three months. He probably planned to quietly not invite him anymore if his performance dropped, but in the meantime wanted to fetch him early.  
His performance wouldn't drop, it would only increase, and anyway it gave him some leverage. If he was favored by his Head of House, it would be stupid to not just wait and see.  
Malfoy was only thirteen and not that bright, but he would know that. He jeered “We will see how long that lasts.” and turned away, disappearing wherever. Tom wasn't intrested in Abraxas Malfoy.

He was interested in Ariana Dumbledore. He had been talking to her more and more, not caring if he asked the same questions than before because she always answered, and he still didn't understand death, he was so close though, if he could talk to her more...   
But she hadn't shown up in two days now. And it was time for the annoying talk with Dumbledore.  
He could respect the man's competency in magic, but his obsession with Tom's business was getting old.

“Ariana noticed you spent more time with her than with your peers, and so she decided to come see you less. Sadly I agree with her, I thought you would have a friendship developping with young Alphard Black, but... ”  
Tom stood frozen in front of Dumbledore, not believing his ears.  
“What? Ariana wouldn't say that.” He clenched his fists. “I'm sure it was your idea. You're – you're always in my business, and you take Ariana away too!”  
“I assure you, Tom... “  
“And I talk to Alphard!” Sometimes. It was more Alphard who talked to him. Tom had neglected that relationship, and Alphard talked to him less and less, going to spend time with friends who were more available no doubt. But Dumbledore didn't need to know that.  
“It is Ariana's decision, and... “  
“No! I'm sure you put her up to it. Don't talk to me!”  
He fled Dumbledore's office, shaking and his eyes stinging. It wasn't fair. Life had never been fair.  
When he got back to his dormitory, he took out his first toy from his drawer, the one the professor had made him, and threw it into the flames when no one was looking.  
If he felt his heart clench with regret and guilt immediately, it was of no consequence as it was too late anyway.

Christmas loomed closer and closer, a cheer he didn't take part in in the air; he didn't go back to see Dumbledore, and Ariana didn't reappear for days. Weeks.

Not months.  
“Tom. It was my decision.” She shimmered in front of him. He had stopped waiting for her, and just then, she had appeared. He pouted, even if he would deny it. He had wanted to rage against her, to shout at her, but just by looking at her he felt calmer.  
“Why?” he just asked, dejectedly. He had felt really alone these past weeks, and Dumbledore was to blame. Ariana was to blame.   
“You need real friends, Tom. Not dead friends. Talk about life, not death. I'm sorry I let you grow so attached to me.” She had the nerve to smile at him, and the worst thing is that it softened him. “I have been dead for decades, long before you were born. You don't need me.”  
“I don't need anyone anyway!” he said, piqued.  
She sighed without any air. “Not need, then. But, don't you want to?”

*

Didn't he want to?  
He had felt lonely after having a taste of companionship with Ariana that had been taken from him.  
Didn't he want to?  
He slowly picked up his Transfiguration essay (he would get perfect marks he was sure, and maybe the professor would stop carefully trying not to look disappointed when he looked at Tom) and rolled it, putting it in his bag. He couldn't blame Dumbledore anymore for Ariana... Well, he could, Tom was good at holding a grudge, but Ariana seemed to have taken his grudge with him.  
Didn't he want to?  
He would talk with the professor about some of the unconventional ideas he had in his essay; the man was brilliant at magic, he breathed magic, more than any other of his professors. He respected that.  
Didn't he want to?  
Maybe it was time to repair other relationships that he had neglected.  
He had felt lonely.  
“Hey, Alphard.”  
Alphard looked surprised, and then smiled at him. “Hi, Tom. I wasn't sure that I should come find you.” Tom shuffled, uneasy. “I found something great. You want to come?”  
“... Yes.”

*

“I already showed Mary and Oliver, it's just us today.”   
Tom made a noncommittal sound. He preferred that they were alone.  
They were going deeper in the dungeons, towards a painting that displayed a rather indecent amount of food. There was nothing there, he had already been in this corridor and it was a dead-end, so why were they here?  
“I already went there weeks ago, there was nothing...”  
Alphard gave him a smug look. “You didn't look close enough.”  
He reached towards the painting and tickled the pear, which moved like in laughter and then the painting morphed into a door. Tom touched it, fascinated.  
“It's the entrance to the kitchens!”

His stomach rumbled at these words. “How did you find this?”  
“Well, the pear was painted a little differently than the rest.” He grinned at Tom, who stared at him. He had always thought Alphard was a little goofy and disorganized, but he apparently had an eye for details. More so than Tom, evidently.   
“Come on, Tom” he said, and pushed the door.  
The kitchens were huge, and full of food, and bustling with activity, as dinner wasn't that far away. But it was the shape of those doing the activity that left Tom standing there, his eyes wide as saucers.  
“Muggles don't use House-elves either, I guess.” smiled Alphard. “Isn't it grand?”  
Tom didn't think elves were like those things. They didn't look like the ones of Muggle tales, but rather like imps, and they didn't wear clothes but – towels? They looked strange, with huge eyes and huge ears, but they were scrupulously clean (thankfully, given that these were the kitchens) and they wove magic without wands like it was nothing, only rarely touching the actual food and cooking pots and other ustensils.  
One popped in front of them. “Little masters! It is an honor to have the little masters here, Effy is honored” he bowed, “Effy apologizes that the kitchens are so busy and loud, yes, would the little masters like something?”  
“I am showing the kitchens to my friend. Bring cake to us.” Alphard ordered, for it was unmistakably an order, and the little creature bowed again and popped out.   
“What are those? Why are they calling us masters? Are they slaves?”  
“House-elves live to serve.” Alphard plopped down on a cushion that Effy had made appear with a snap of his fingers. He extended his hand and a little plate with a piece of cake floated to him. After an hesitation, Tom imitated him.  
“But they're magic. They don't even have to use wands.” he didn't either, for some things, but he couldn't even fathom to do all that the Elves seemed to be able to do in just their standard tasks.  
“Well. Yes. It's House-elf magic. They can also Apparate where wizard can't, if their master orders them to.”  
“But magical beings shouldn't be made to serve. They're magic.”  
Alphard looked at him, brow furrowed. Tom cut a piece of his cake and tasted it. It was delicious. He cut a rather larger piece next.  
“It is their purpose to serve. They like it. My family has House-elves, and they're treated right.” He looked briefly uneasy. “Mother treats them right anyway, and Father is never there, so it is all right.”  
“I suppose” said Tom slowly, “if they want to... “   
“With a good master, a House-elf has a good life”, Alphard said decidedly. “And who would take care of the mundane tasks otherwise? Making food for all the school? Washing clothes?”  
Tom debated whether he could lick his plate or not. It was just Alphard and the Elves there. Still, probably not.   
“Well, people? Employees?”  
“But if you have House-elves, it's better. They do a better job, and you just have to house them and give them food in return.”  
Well, he supposed it wasn't his problem. He wasn't selfless enough to make it his problem. He shrugged. “I suppose you're right.”

They sat in silence for a moment, as Alphard finished his cake slower than Tom and Tom watched the Elves swirl around us, imagining he could feel their magic buzzing against his skin.  
There were probably many magical creatures he didn't know that lived even weirder lives, many other secrets of the castle... He had to learn them all.   
And Alphard had a good eye for details.  
“Say, Alphard.” he almost gnawed his lower lip, but stopped himself in time. He had no reason to be nervous, and even less to show nervousness. “Want to explore the castle together sometime? And also maybe we could talk about magical creatures. There are.. “ he gestured to the elves and the world at large “so many I don't know, and I want to know every creature which is magic. Are there mermaids in the Lake?”  
Alphard grinned at him. “Yes, let's explore together! Mother said the castle is full of secrets, and she said that I should discover them myself. And there are mermaids in the Lake, but I have never seen one. They speak mermish, anyway, and I don't know if anyone in the castle would be able to speak to them. Maybe professor Dumbledore.”  
Tom raised his eyebrows. “Why do you think that?”  
“Well” and Alphard leaned towards him, an impish expression on his face, “it's just a rumor, and you know how Hogwarts is with rumors, but they say they saw him talking with a mermaid lady, and then Dumbledore kissed her, and then maybe they will get married and Dumbledore will go live in the Lake!”  
“Ew. Kissing.” Tom made a face.  
“I know, right? I don't see what is supposed to be great with girls.” Alphard leaned back. “Anyway, I suppose the part about Dumbledore speaking to a mermaid can be true. Even the kissing, maybe” he allowed, looking rather disgusted. Tom quite agreed. He had seen several upperclassmates engaging in kissing and other activities were supposed to take place in broom closets, but he didn't get the appeal.

He had wanted to be alone but, he thought. But. He had no doubt he would have eventually found the kitchen, but he had been to that corridor, and had noticed nothing. Alphard had, and he had showed Tom. Maybe having others wasn't so bad. He didn't need the help, but he could use it. He could perfectly thrive alone, but sometimes he may lose nothing by sharing. Magic wasn't a finite resource.   
He would not depend on Alphard, of course but he would like to have him with him, not all the time, but they would be more effective together.  
He had so much to do, and so little time, but with help...  
Yes, it was a perfectly calculated and rational decision, he soothed himself. Even if Alphard decided to cut him off, he would thrive, and if Alphard found something, he had already showed he would share. He had nothing to lose there. He could allow himself to be also feeling good about being together.   
And he would ask professor Dumbledore about mermish. He had been in the wrong about Ariana, and he wouldn't apologize, but he could maybe talk to him again.

*

“There's a rumor that you speak mermish, professor”, he said neutrally.  
“Oh, there is quite a bit more than that to that particular rumor” Dumbledore said, twinkling at him. He had been obviously happy that Tom returned. “But alas, I have no grand plans to go marry a mermaid princess and live in her underwater castle and become king of the Lake.”  
“I already figured that out, sir.” Tom frowned.  
“Isn't Hogwart's rumor mill marvelous?” Tom wasn't sure he agreed. “But yes, I do speak mermish, that part is true. And only that part, I didn't even kiss the mermaid, even if I am sure she is quite a lovely lady.” Tom felt himself blush at the mention of kissing. “And they don't have a monarchy, or nothing we would recognize as one. Are you interested in the mermaids, Tom?”  
Tom shuffled. “I am interested in magical creatures, sir.” he answered. He tried to summon the initial suspicion he had towards Dumbledore, but it had finally quieted. “They are magic, and all of a species are magic, right?” Dumbledore nodded. “So why are humans different? I thought wizards would be a different species than Muggles then, but Muggleborn exist, and Muggles and wizards look alike even if some have magic and some don't.” and thus wizards are the superior kind, he didn't say. He knew Dumbledore wouldn't answer then. Still, he had the impression that the older wizard knew what he didn't say and chose to let him form his own ideas.  
“It is a question that has been asked by many wizards before you, Tom. I am afraid that the ones who treated Muggles like another species, or like an inferior subspecies of humans”, here he shot a piercing gaze at Tom, who valiantly refused to let anything show on his face, “were quite wrong. Wizards are born from Muggles, and Muggles are born from wizards – yes, you didn't know that, I see. It is not talked about often. They are called Squibs, and sadly, they are considered quite shameful.” he sighed, looking older than his years. “I firmly believe that Muggle and wizards are equal, and all humans.” He leaned forward, his eyes intent on Tom's. “I hope you will also see that, in time. You are young, and your experience with Muggles was less than pleasant.”   
That was a little of an understatement, but he let it slide.   
“I am not sure the Muggle children with you were very happy either.” At least they hadn't been the weird cold kid, Tom thought vindictively, but thankfully Dumbledore left it at that. “I don't know why some humans have the gift of magic, and some don't. But magic isn't the only gift that a human can have. You can have a gift for music. For dance. For woodworking. Magic isn't the only gift worth having.” Tom disagreed immensely, and it must have shown on his face despite his efforts, because Dumbledore shook his head sadly. “I can't force you to change your opinion on that, we must disagree. But if you are interested in magical creatures and the different forms magic can take in living things, I can only encourage you to pursue it. It is a worthy field, and worthy of your attention. There are wondrous things to be discovered there, and you will see that sometimes the line between what is magic and what is Muggle can be quite blurry indeed. Some Muggles have traces of magic, you know, even if they won't ever be able to cast a spell.” 

Tom had forgotten to breathe for a while, insanely interested. It was the most interesting conversation he ever had with the professor – except when he had revealed the world of magic to him – and certainly the longest.  
“I want to know everything, sir.”  
Dumbledore twinkled again, irritably. “I daresay you do. Did the Hat consider Ravenclaw for you by any chance? No, don't answer that. It does not matter. Houses do not dictate who you are. I can teach you mermish, if you would like to converse with the mermaids. I must warn you, it is tricky to learn, and you will also have to get a mermaid to speak to you, and that I will leave to you.”  
Tom nodded. He didn't want the professor to get a mermaid to speak to him for him, anyway. “I can learn out of a book, if you have one to recommend.”  
“It may be possible, but you can't learn a language out of a book. A book can only help you, and some would even sound out the words for you, but to learn to really talk... You would need a teacher.”  
Tom mulled over this, and the professor let him. He may be right, but he would try anyway, and see where that got him.  
“Thank you for the offer, sir. I will consider it.”  
Dumbledore accepted his thanks cheerfully, and then after a short while he could be on his way.  
He had learned a lot in this meeting. He didn't quite abhor the idea of the next one, he found.

*

War was brewing in the Muggle world, Albus knew. He didn't think that going back to the orphanage was what was best for Tom. The nearing war, what the orphanage meant to him... Tom had made progress, and it would just set him back. Realistically, he knew that nobody quite cared where Tom would spend his summer – Horace was interested in him, yes, but he was still only a first-year of unknown parentage. He showed promise, but that was all.   
He let himself in the Headmaster's tower and knocked to the office door.  
“Come in, Albus.”  
Armando Dippet was at his desk, tinkering with a crystal contraption.  
“I came to talk to you about Tom Riddle.”  
“Yes, the boy you've taken an interest in, right? He's quite brilliant, according to the other professors.” he taped the right side of the thing and a soft ding echoed in the space.   
“I think he shouldn't go back to that Muggle orphanage, at least not this summer.”   
The headmaster put down the crystal contraption with great care and looked at Albus. “Surely you don't presume he could stay at Hogwarts. No student stays at Hogwarts in the summer, much less a first year.”  
Albus smiled benignly. “Not at all. I thought about taking him with me.”  
“Oh” said Armando, relieved. “Do whatever you wish.”  
“I am not his legal guardian, the orphanage is” reminded Albus.  
The headmaster made a disparaging sound. “Muggles who don't know what he is. You know they can't do anything, provided they care, and on our side nobody would care what an orphan Muggleborn does with his summer.”  
Albus nodded. “Still, I would like to do things correctly. I need the headmaster's blessing to apply for guardianship of a pupil of the school. I take it you'll grant it?”  
Armando waved him away. “Of course. It's not like the ministry would get in your way, the boy has no family, you will have no opposition. If anything, they'll be glad you take him out of the orphanage – no paperwork to send to a Muggle place to keep the illusion that he goes to a Muggle school, eh?” He picked up his crystals again. “It's not a custody battle among purebloods, or even wizards. You'll have a clerk approve it in minutes, I wager.” He signed a parchment and floated it to Albus. “Here's my signed approval, in case you need it. Is it all you wanted?”  
Albus inclined his head, and took his leave.  
He wouldn't go over Tom's head with this. But he was confident the boy would accept this, if only to never go back to the orphanage.  
Hopefully, he would also accept to have a home.

*

His first christmas at Hogwarts and the next months had passed in a whirlwind. He had got presents he couldn't reciprocate, which grated at him as it was too much like charity, but he still took them. He had made progress in magic, but not in much else – there were only twenty-four hours in a day. He had spent a lot of time exploring the castle fruitlessly; sure he had found (or they had found, because sometimes he did go with Alphard) some places out of the way that were beautiful, but nothing as interesting as the kitchens. He had taken a few mermish lessons with Dumbledore (you really couldn't learn this language out of a book; he had tried) and he could babble a few words, but it was an incredibly difficult language, so his progress was slow...  
And summer loomed like a black cloud. It was almost time to go back to the orphanage, just after the end of year exams, but he didn't relish that idea at all.   
Which is why it should have been a relief when Dumbledore told him he could spend the summer at Hogsmeade with him, but he buckled at the idea.  
He sat straight-backed and stared at a point just above Dumbledore's eyes. “I don't want that. Sir.”  
The professor looked at him curiously. “You prefer to go back to the orphanage?”  
“No!” Tom clenched his fists. “Of course not, I don't want to go back there.” It was maybe better than taking such a gift from Dumbledore, but everything in him screamed no at the idea of going back. “I want... to stay in Hogwarts, please.”  
Dumbledore shook his head. “The castle is closed in the summer. You know that, Tom. There is only the groundskeeper there, and his duties don't include taking care of children.” The professor raised a hand. “Do not say you are capable of taking care of yourself. I can't allow it.”  
“Then I can stay in Diagon Alley” Tom tried.  
“That is worse, Tom.” He knew that he would get this response, but he had to try. “Hogsmeade in my home is the best that I can offer you, it is that or the orphanage. What bothers you about it? You will have more freedom than in the castle I assure you... “  
“It is too much like charity.” Tom ground out, and the professor fell silent. It was the first time Tom admitted that. “I lived out of charity all my life, and it's just more and more, and it is... humiliating.”  
Dumbledore folded his hands. “I see. I assure you, I do not offer you this out of pity. It is an offer I make to a fellow wizard,” he soothed, “a wizard too young to be left to his own devices, but who shows great promise.”  
Tom really wanted to accept, but the professor's words were not enough. “I will get a job as soon as I can, sir, and reimburse you everything. I swear it.”  
Dumbledore sighed. “I rather you focus on your studies. But if it makes you feel better, and you still feel that way when you are of age, I will let you do that.”  
Tom nodded. He would not change his mind. “Then I accept.”  
“There is still another thing, if you are to spend the summer with me... “  
The offer of guardianship was almost too much.

*

For years, Tom had wanted to be adopted, first to have a family, and then when he understood he was alien and different anyway, to get out of the orphanage.  
He had gotten out. And he never had to go back, if he accepted Dumbledore's offer of guardianship.   
The professor had been interested in him anyway, so it wouldn't change anything except he could live in the wizarding world full time. It hadn't even been a question.  
One year ago he would have refused categorically, but now... He saw the benefits of having people in his life.   
The professor wasn't family, of course, but it was the only adult Tom marginally trusted, the other professors only seeing a polite brilliant boy, but ultimately a child amongst others. For Dumbledore, he had been special enough to warrant attention. And even care. 

The exams had been easy. Not so that he could have done them in his sleep, but still. He was talented, and more than that he had worked hard all year, and he was expecting excellent marks.  
The end of year feast was grand, even if Ravenclaw had won the house cup. Tom didn't care that much, but it would still have been good to have seen the great hall clad in green and silver. 

“Where are you going this summer?” Alphard asked, as they packed. “We're going to Spain to visit some of my Mother's family, and Walburga isn't coming, so it will just be Mother and me.” He grinned.  
“That is a good thing” Tom said seriously. “I am staying in Hogsmeade.” The professor had said he had a house there.   
“You're not with the Muggles, then? Who are you staying with?”  
Tom shook his head. “I'd rather not say, even to you.” The fact that he hadn't just lied and said he was going back to the Muggle world was plenty enough already, he thought, but Alphard still looked a little put out.  
“Alright then. I would say I write but” Alphard grimaced, “I am not great at remembering to write, to Mother's dismay.”  
Tom snorted. “It sounds boring anyway.”  
The other boy made a face. “I know, right? When I'm older I'll learn the Patronus and just send it to people with what I want to say.”  
Tom noted to ask what a Patronus was and when he could learn it.  
“Sure” he said noncommitally in the meantime. “Let's just promise... Next year we'll break into the Forbidden Forest” he whispered.  
Alphard's eyes widened. “I will ask some of my cousins who won't tell Mother if they have any tips. And let's also promise to not go in there at night. We're not reckless Gryffindors.”  
Tom quite agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the first summer :)
> 
> My Tom is probably softer than canon!Tom but I am a fluff author after all, I want my characters to be happy. I do my best anyway, I would love nice comments and kudos!


	5. First Summer

The professor's house was on the outskirts of the town. He had said to Tom that he could take the bedroom upstairs for his own, and Tom was there now, craning his neck at the window. He could see the castle in the distance, the castle which had been his home for the past nine months, more than the orphanage had ever been.  
This house wasn't his home, it was the professor's, even if he had told Tom that he could think of it as his too. He couldn't, though.  
Satisfied that he could see Hogwarts from there, he examined the (his) bedroom more attentively. His room had always been bare, or shared. This one was the nicest he had ever had.  
There was a plush bed, with curtains, which Tom was glad to see because it would have been weird, and in a bad way, to sleep without curtains again. He could use a desk, with a comfortable-looking chair and an orb that you had to tap twice to make it emit light. He tried it now, and it started to glow steadily, elevating himself above the desk. He grinned - magic was great - and tapped it again to shut it down. There was a spacious wardrobe in which he would put his clothes in a moment – and the professor had told him they would buy him more wizardwear. He was his guardian now, he had said, and he would make sure Tom had all he needed.  
Tom, himself, had resolved to take note of everything the professor spent on him so he could reimburse him and not owe him anything. But for now, he would take it.  
The room was in Slytherin green and silver, and Tom suspected that the professor had changed the colors for him. It was comforting, as it reminded him of his home in the castle. He would not call attention to it, though. It would be quite an uncomfortable conversation.

One of the best things about being in Hogsmeade, in this house, is that he could spend time with Ariana again. He had already saw her floating around, and said hello, and had realised he had no question to ask about death right this moment; he was just glad to see her again. She didn't know that house either, she had said, it was quite new and not tied to pain like the professor's previous house – maybe they could get to know it and Hogsmeade together. That suited Tom.

And the second best thing was that since he was nowhere near Muggles he would be able to do magic in the summer. Alphard had told him about it when he had complained about the notes they were given about no magic outside of Hogwarts, that the ministry could tell spells had been used in the vicinity of an underaged wizard who had the Trace, but could not prove that it was the underaged wizard who had cast. Pureblood and even halfblood families took advantage of this all the time, except the ones that insisted on following the rules or being “fair to the muggleborns”. Tom didn't care about either, and he had cornered the professor next. Dumbledore had sighed, and given up on forbidding it (Tom had the feeling he wouldn't have taken his wand from him, it was a grave slight for a wizard, and he probably knew that he would have done magic anyway), but said he would supervise.  
Tom had asked about the Patronus then, and Dumbledore had agreed to teach it to him – he warned him that it was advanced magic and he probably wouldn't manage it, and Tom privately disagreed but didn't argue.  
So he was fine with being supervised, since he would be taught first and foremost.

He elected to clean out his trunk later. He wanted to explore the house now. He was wearing some of the few casual robes he owned, carefully extended with a charm that he had taught himself discreetly, but it was still too short for him. Extension charms could only go so far. He had grown up fast this year. He felt a little self-conscious about it, but his school robes were barely better, and wearing school robes would look more out of place anyway.  
The house wasn't that big, but it was more than enough for two people. On the second floor, where he was, there was the (his) bedroom, a washroom the professor said he could use since he had one on the first floor next to his own bedroom, and an unused room that could be another bedroom but the professor had said he would make it into a potions lab, and Tom could help set it up if he wanted to (he did). There was also stairs to the attic, and Tom went up. Creaking stairs, he amended, and even when he tried walking next to the wall and not in the center of he stairs, they still creaked. And the attic door was locked. He tried to see through the keyhole, but all he saw was vague shapes in the darkness and dust dancing in a single ray of light. Ariana shimmered next to him.  
“Can you go inside and tell me what's there? I can't see.”  
She put her head through the door. “It's too dark, I can't see either. Sorry, Tom. Albus locked it anyway, you know?”  
He shrugged. Locked doors didn't mean you couldn't try to look.  
He crept down to the first floor, Ariana humming after him. The professor was out to get groceries, and he had told Tom to explore the house but to please not go out yet except in the garden, and please not open locked doors. He would have tried to open the attic door but he was pretty sure the professor had put wards on it and would know, and he would fail some sort of test. 

The first floor was larger than the second floor. There was the professor's bedroom, locked, a small library with only half the shelves filled (he made a note to browse them later), a living room with comfortable-looking chairs and couches, and a kitchen. There was a table in the kitchen, they would probably eat there. He felt a little uncomfortable thinking about eating with the professor, but it was better than at the orphanage. He took a cookie from the cookie jar and munched on it as he headed outside.  
The garden was full of overgrown weeds, and curiously, blackberry bushes. It had looked smaller from the exterior, so maybe there was some extension charms in place? Or wards, more probably.  
Maybe the professor would grow magical plants there. Tom certainly hoped so.  
The house was evidently not yet lived in. He wondered where the professor (and maybe Ariana) lived (… or resided, for Ariana) before this summer – what did it mean, tied to pain? He asked Ariana, who was looking at his cookie a little wistfully.  
“It's where I died” she said bluntly. Another child would have felt guilty, but not Tom. This was simply fact. “And my life before that wasn't the happiest either.” She fell silent, and he didn't press. He knew about not the happiest of lives, and he didn't wish to discuss that topic.

He heard the front door open and close, but stayed there. It was not long before the professor found them.  
“I assumed you would be there, Tom. What do you think we should grow in this garden?”  
“You're asking me, sir? It is your house.”  
The professor regarded him seriously. “I became legally your guardian. I want this to be your home, too. You don't have to answer me right away, but I would like you to think on it.”  
Tom let his eyes wander on the vast space. He felt intimidated.  
“I'll be going back to Hogwarts in two months anyway – and you too, sir. The house and the garden are not gonna be much use, are they?”  
“Plants and trees live longer than two months, Tom. I will tend to them, and in your third year you can go to Hogsmeade and spend a little time here, if you wish – bring your friends, even.”  
He fiddled with some weeds. “I'm not sure, sir. Is the house new? Ariana told me you bought it recently and she didn't know it... “  
“Ah. It is actually pretty old, but I have come into possession of it recently, yes. I had an old cottage in Godric's Hollow – that is an half wizard, half muggle village – with my brother but,” he hesitated. “It was never a lucky house. My brother didn't want anything to do with it, and I lived in it for a long time when I wasn't at Hogwarts, but I sold it now, and bought this instead.” The professor looked far away. “I should have done it long ago.”  
“The cottage where Ariana died.” Tom said, not caring if it was insensitive.  
The professor looked pained. “As I said. It wasn't a lucky house.” He changed the subject with false cheer. “There is time before lunch, and the groceries should have put themselves away. Did you unpack?”  
Tom shuffled.  
“I thought not. Do you want me to teach a spell to do it for you?”  
“Yes. That would be good.” His fingers itched to do magic. Maybe he could learn the Patronus later.

*

“But you said you would teach me the Patronus charm!” Tom knew he was whining, but he didn't care at the moment. Ariana had looked alarmed and disappeared at the first sign of conflict. “The ministry can't tell who cast the spell.”  
The professor looked at him serenely. “They can't tell who cast it, but they can tell the kind of spell. Tell me, Tom, if you were a ministry worker and you saw that the patronus was cast repeatedly in the vicinity of a minor, would you not assume that he was learning it? Or attempting to learn it, at the very least.”  
“Maybe not” Tom said crossly, but he didn't think what he said. Of course he would think that.  
“We can still make progress without casting the spell, Tom. I will cast it once, so you will see it – once is fine.”  
“I don't see how you can make progress without practicing... “ Tom mumbled. “But I want to see it!”  
“You know little about the Patronus. It is as much a state of mind as it is a spell – it is a spell that is born from a state of mind.” Albus took out his wand. “You will understand. Expecto Patronum.”  
A huge bird erupted from the wand, all silvery light and – happiness. It swirled around Tom, enveloping him in a cocoon of joy, and he heard himself laugh. It reminded him of when he got his wand, and wasn't it true that it had a phoenix feather after all?  
The professor looked at him with a soft smile, but Tom couldn't bring himself to care about his obvious display of emotion and joy.  
“My Patronus takes the form of a phoenix. It is different for everyone, but if the shape is different, the core stays the same. Happiness. Joy. Pure happiness, not tainted.” The phoenix flapped his wings a last time, blurred and disappeared slowly, leaving the memory of contentment in his wake. “You must learn to reach a place of joy within yourself, think of a happy memory and immerse yourself in it. It is easier for some people than for other.”  
The professor didn't need to say it for Tom to know that he thought it would be harder for him. He wasn't wrong, he suspected. A spell powered by emotion was new, but he couldn't sneer at the idea of happiness as a basis for a spell after having basked in the silver light of the phoenix.  
“Revisit your happy memories, Tom. Make happy memories. Learn where is joy whithin yourself. It is the surest way to progress towards the patronus spell.”

*

Hogsmeade was really a little village, a far cry from the city where Tom had grown up. It was unnerving to not be an anonymous boy in an anonymous crowd, but he would get used to it. Those people, who smiled at the professor, who bid good afternoon to him, who were introduced to Tom and peeked at him curiously, were all wizards. He would fit there, amongst his people, he decided.  
The professor hadn't lived in Hogsmeade, but everybody knew the Hogwarts professors there. They came down on week-ends or sometimes during the week, and everyone seemed honored to have a professor settle down in the village. Hogwarts professors were respected even outside of Hogwarts, Tom realised. This was prestige, the people knowing who you were and taking the time to talk to you, the people giving you respect not just as a fellow wizard but as a Professor. This was a form of power, power born of teaching generations of wizards, power born of understanding magic and sharing it.

And Tom got to share it, as Dumbledore introduced him as his ward.  
“This is Tom”, he said to the neighbors.  
To the stall vendor at the market, who gave an unknown fruit to him, it was sweet and sour with a spicy aftertaste - “fireberry”, the professor said to him.  
To the book vendor who was dozing in the sun on the porch of his bookshop.  
To the new shopkeeper who was levitating a brand-new shop sign to the shop he was setting up before the school year and the Hogsmeade weekends started.  
Then they arrived in front of a little clothes shop. “We could have gone to Diagon Alley, but I do think you will find what you need there. It is nice to go to your own town's shop, too.” said the professor.  
Tom nodded noncommittally. He would have liked to go to Diagon Alley again, but here was plenty enough for today. He was a little tired. 

They let themselves in and Tom poked at the fabrics. They were soft and light, perfect for summer.  
An old man emerged from the back room. “Welcome. What do you need?” His gnarly hand gripped his cane and he was entirely hairless, but his eyes were piercing and alert.  
“We will need several casual sets of summer robes for my ward here, and we will also pick up some underwear and socks.” Tom blushed and kept his eyes on the ground, but he seemed to be the only one sensitive about talking of underwear. “I will also need new robes for myself.”  
The man nodded and set to work. He whistled, and several dozens tiny golden birds surged, carrying measuring tape and a selection of cloth.  
The professor went for fitting first, disappearing with the old man and his birds behind a drape, and then after a short while it was Tom's turn.  
The shopkeeper barely moved, maybe it was because he was so old and it hurt, but his birds did all the manual work for him.  
It was always fun to see magic at work, and it took so many forms, Tom reflected. The shopkeeper could have probably levitated what he needed, but he must like the birds.  
He chose the cloths he wanted for his robes, and was directed to go pick underwear and socks towards the back, which he did while willing his blush to recede.  
They left the shop with the assurance that all would be ready in a week's time.  
The professor ordered new shoes for Tom at another shop too, manned by a young woman with purple hair. Tom couldn't help but peek curiously at it.  
And he would need to reimburse the professor everything. He had carefully counted how much everything amounted to, and it made his head spin, but when he'll be an adult he would have that kind of money.

“I think it is quite enough for today” said the professor as they made their way back to the house. “You can go explore the village, if you wish, but please do not venture outside. Or you have all summer to explore, if you are tired.”  
Tom was quite tired, but he wouldn't admit to it. “Actually I thought I could go look into the house's library. May I?”  
“Of course, Tom. It is not yet full, as you saw, but all the books in there are free for your perusal.”  
“Thank you, professor.”  
There were probably other books that weren't in there that were not free for his perusal. But he would get caught if he tried to sneak into the professor's bedroom or the attic, he thought, at least if he went without knowing the protections on them and without a plan.  
For now, the library would suffice.

*

Sometimes Tom forgot to be scrupulously polite with him. Albus rather thought it was a good thing. Tom was only scrupulously polite with people he didn't trust.  
His work paid off, and the cold, hard boy was after all still a boy.  
He didn't know what going back to the orphanage would have done to him, but he rather suspected it would have broken all the fragile trust he had built between them. Inviting him to his home – to what would become his home – was a bold move, but Albus had been Gryffindor. He calculated, made plans within plalns, but sometimes he dared.

Tom was reading a heavy tome on a pillow near the window, the ball of light illuminating the pages. He read only heavy tomes and academic books in the living room, but Albus had noticed that fairytales books and children's stories conspicuously disappeared from the library from time to time. Tom had needed magic in his life, very badly, magic that you didn't only use to hurt, and Albus would strive to provide it.  
He knew he had to give Tom a chance, he was pushing himself to it. He didn't know why; he had checked himself for alien compulsions and had found none. It felt like a compulsion, but it came from himself, like he had put it there and forgot about it. He had worked for months at finding out why he knew he had to help to put Tom on the right path, to educate him and not watch him from afar as he might have done if he hadn't been compelled, and had found nothing. Maybe it wasn't important. He could see that it would have probably be an error to not be there for Tom. To let him go alone in the world. He was just a child. A cold, cruel child who needed to learn how to grow into a man who would not be cold and cruel. 

“I think you could grow magical plants in the garden.” Tom said suddenly, his eyes on his page. “Herbology was a good class, but the plants were sometimes boring. Maybe you could plant more interesting ones. The ones we study in upper years.”  
“An interesting idea” said Albus jovially. “None that are restricted, of course, we wouldn't want that.”  
“Of course” Tom said half-heartedly.  
“There are also interesting plants that are not that dangerous, but are not in the Hogwarts curriculum. Maybe you would be interested in broadening your horizons that way.”  
“Yes” nodded Tom. “Also potions ingredients should get priority. I want to learn how to grow them and how to harvest them.” He lifted his book to show the cover to Albus. A Guide to Magical Plants. “I have some precise suggestions of plants I would like to see.”  
“Show me” said Albus.  
And Tom did, not quite talking animatedly but with manifest quiet interest about growing life. 

*

He didn't know why he hadn't thought that there wouldn't be children in Hogsmeade... Or more accurately, he hadn't thought about it, period.  
When he saw Mary and Oliver for the first time, he hid from them. They were barely acquaintances, people he spared a nod for but nothing else, and he was well enough alone, thank you.  
But Tom had been surrounded by other children all his life, after all. He had resented it for the first eleven, because he had been the weird one, the one to avoid, the cruel one, but it had been a constant.  
And this past year, it had started to become good.  
The next time, he didn't hide. The few times after that, he said hello. And then, he said yes when they asked if he wanted to play. He had been feeling a little lonely, after all.  
Wizard children played not much differently than Muggle children, he found. The biggest difference was that he played with them, this time. He had been too different at the orphanage, and he had considered them too inferior, to play – it was both their fault and his, and the caretaker's most of all, because they too as adults thought he was a creepy child and it showed, but he wouldn't acknowledge that for a long time yet.

The best thing was that they had brooms. Tom had been afraid to fly at first, but now he loved it, loved the freedom it brought him...  
Mary was trying to learn how to do a looping well away from parental eyes, and Tom was hovering with Oliver who looked nervously at his sister. He had flown high and true, and now even he had to admit he was tired, so hovering it was.  
“Alphard doesn't write to you, does he?” he said suddenly. He had waited for a letter while telling himself he wasn't waiting, and it hadn't come.  
Oliver laughed shortly. “No. He said he's bad at writing letters, and apparently he didn't lie. I sent him a letter that was two pages long and he answered with a few lines, and wrinkled too. I guess I'll know how his summer was in September.”

Tom hadn't thought about writing first. He mulled on that all evening, and all night, and in the morning he took a quill and started to write.  
His letter wasn't two pages long, but neither was it a few lines. He irritatingly missed Alphard.

*

There were snakes in the garden. Tom had noticed then when he prepared the ground for the seeds and plants that they were going to get, and they had softly greeted each other.  
He had tried to make friends with snakes back at the orphanage, but snakes were fickle, and when people noticed you hissed at a snake... It was bad. He hadn't tried that long.  
There was one there who seemed constantly interested in him, though. He spotted it following him when he was outside, and one day he had enough. He crouched in the garden, on a patch they hadn't worked on yet, and sure enough the snake soon poked his head around.  
“What do you want?” he hissed.  
“A patch of sssunlight and warmth... “ the snake slithered closer.  
“You know what I mean. You follow me around. The other ssnakes don't do that.”  
“You're new. And you ssspeak. I am curiousss.” the snake flicked its tongue at him. “The others don't care much but I am alwayss curiousss.”  
“Well, ssstop following me.”  
“No.”  
Tom paused. Snakes did what he told them to do. That was always what happened. They didn't have to, the professor had told him, but still.  
“I could kill you.” he said. “You would rissk death?”  
The snake considered, its head cocked to the side. It didn't look exactly like the others garden snakes, now that Tom looked closer. It was greener, and slightly bigger. “You could” it finally said, “but you didn't sssay you would.”  
“You sssound more intelligent than the other sssnakes. Are you ssspecial?”  
“Yesss” said the snake, sounding smug. “I'm young but I am bigger than the adultss. I'm sssmart. I'm curiousss. I'm blessssed.”  
This was intriguing. “Blesssed?”  
“Sssome ssnakes are born ssspecial. It is as it is, the eldersss say. They call usss blessssed. We are born closer to magic.”  
Tom tried to process the concept of elder garden snakes. “You're like a muggleborn sssnake?”  
“No. I am blesssed.”  
He still didn't get it, but he figured that this snake was special, anyway.  
“If I let you come with me, will you ssstay with me or will you go away?”  
The snake flicked its tongue. “If you sssstay interesssting, I will ssstay.”  
Tom had never believed he could be uninteresting. And Dumbledore had his companion phoenix, he could have a companion snake.  
“Then come” he said imperiously and extended his hand. The snake didn't move. “If you wish to?” he added, more uncertain than he'd like. The snake moved then, slithering across his palm.  
Tom let it coil around his wrist.  
“Do you have a name?”  
“You may call me Nagini.”

Ariana liked his snake, and promised not to tell Dumbledore. She watched them hiss at each other from time to time, and she said she tried to discern the sounds of Parseltongue, but it was just hisses to her.  
Tom took the time to hiss some words slowly at her, and she tried to say them back, and sometimes it almost worked.  
Maybe you could learn Parseltongue, if you worked very very hard at it. He didn't like that; it was a gift he had been born with. It was his.  
He stopped hissing slow words at Ariana, and she looked chagrined from time to time but didn't ask him to start again.

*

The basement door was behind the blackberries bushes. It was an unassuming door, and the bushes were overgrown, which is why Tom hadn't seen it before. He had been peeking around the bushes for fresh blackberries and garden gnomes (he hadn't found any but he hoped they had some), when he saw it. He tried the handle and was surprised when it gave way under his hand. He was certain it would be locked.  
Blackberries and gnomes forgotten, he went into the inviting darkness. 

A muttered Lumos later, he could see wooden steps descending into the dark. He flicked his wand forward and a ball of light shoot from it, illuminating more of the way. It looked like it had been used as a storage space, probably by the previous occupants of the house. It was dusty and had obviously been left undisturbed for a long time.  
He started to descend, and when he put his hand to the wall for balance, streaks of lights in the stone expanded forward, like veins of glowing quartz, in all of the basement.  
He blinked at that, cancelled his Lumos and pocketed his wand again.  
The steps creaked under his feet, and the air was heavy with mold and mildew. He sneezed and rather inelegantly used his sleeve to wipe his nose. Maybe there was an air purification spell he could learn. He tried to will the damp air to clear a little, but it wasn't very effective, if it had been effective at all.  
There were old boxes to poke around in anyway, and it was more interesting than fresh air. If he had to sneeze sometimes, so be it, maybe there was interesting stuff here. 

Unfortunately, if there was anything interesting, it was well hidden. There was nothing of value, it was mostly old books and mismatched old-fashioned furniture. He opened a music box which played a sad little melody, a lonely dancer waltzing around, and it was perhaps the most interesting thing he had found. So, really nothing. He closed the box with a dry clap and noticed a chest huddled in the corner. With a feeling of anticipation, he went to it – but it wasn't closed as it should have been, and looking closer there was mold on the side. He opened it, and inside there was only a collection of random knick-knacks, all ruined by humidity. It looked like the preservation charms had failed.  
He grimaced and dusted himself. At least the lights on the walls were pretty, he remarked. It really was quartz, but it had been enchanted to glow and react to touch – or maybe just a wizard's touch?  
He thought he had found a secret basement, but the professor must have known about it, of course, and considered there was nothing he shouldn't find there. Or maybe he had removed the things he shouldn't find, he thought as he made his way back to the garden. But again, if it was the things the previous homeowners had left behind, there was no reason to find hidden treasure.  
He closed the door without looking behind him, ducked under the blackberries bushes and stretched under the sun.

*

Tom was sneaky, and Nagini didn't ask for much. Snakes were not allowed as pets in Hogwarts, but if nobody knew, he could bring her. She was independent enough to go to Hogwarts on her own, even, and she would live outside. So it wasn't like he was bringing a pet.  
She would come on her own, and they would meet often. He had planned to go into the Forbidden Forest this year anyway. She had told him that it sounded like an interesting place and that she would like it.  
He had received some letters (more like longer notes) from Alphard that he hadn't counted on after his first one, and the garden he helped grow was thriving.  
He had tried to make progress on the patronus, and he had a set of memories that he believed could work. He had wanted to cast it, but his summer had been full of new discoveries, and between the fact that he could risk having his wand snapped (this was an awful, awful thing) and the fact that even if he didn't have his wand snapped, if the professor saw it he would surely refuse to give him further instruction... He had refrained.

This was the last night, and tomorrow he would side-Apparate to London to take the Hogwarts Express. It was a little silly, but it was tradition, he had ridden the Express to London before the summer, and he would ride it every time, even if he lived in Hogsmeade – he had started to think of it as home, sometimes, on the edges of his thoughts.  
He was going back to Hogwarts, now, and at the beginning of summer he couldn't wait for it, but now he rather thought he would miss his cosy bedroom, the garden he had worked on, and the fairytales in the library – how come Hogwarts didn't have fiction shelves anyway?  
He was all packed, and he looked at Hogwarts basked in moonlight from his bedroom window. He had left Nagini on the path that lead to the castle, and she had slithered impatiently out of sight. She was noticeably bigger than a garden snake now, and her stripes were emerald-green.  
They would find each other on the castle grounds.

It would be weird to go back to be just student and teacher with Dumbledore, and not ward and guardian. Good, perhaps, but weird. Everything about this situation was weird.  
At least the professor hadn't asked Tom to call him anything other than “sir” or “professor”. Tom shivered. That would have been unthinkable.  
He had been... easy to live with. He had given Tom his space. He could respect that.  
And he had let him eat biscuits and cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love summer, and I am a fluff author, so this is a long fluffy summer.  
> I would love nice comments and kudos!


	6. Year 2 Part 1

He had reunited on the Hogwarts Express with Alphard, who hadn't changed at all.  
“I'm glad to go back to Hogwarts”, he confessed. “I have a new brother, and babies are a nightmare.”  
Tom agreed emphatically. He had seen his share of babies at the orphanage – mostly heard his share. They could sure scream loud for such tiny formless things.  
The trip passed without any incidents, and soon they were in view of the castle.  
He looked at the first years climb on the boats. Had he been so tiny? He felt grown up now, as he climbed into a carriage.  
“They don't really move by themselves, you know.” Alphard told him. “I thought it was just magic, but Walburga said that it's Thestrals. They're a kind of horse you can only see if you have seen death and understood it. She studied them in Care of Magical Creatures, she said.”  
“Oh. I wish I could see them.” Tom grimaced. “Or maybe not. Depends on who dies. I thought you didn't talk with your sister?”  
“Yes, but now with our little brother just born... She is less insufferable. And Mother is very busy. We had to come back from Spain earlier than expected, because Cygnus was born early.” He looked a little dejected. Tom knew he was close with his mother. “But don't worry, at Hogwarts it's not the same. She has her friends who I don't like, and I have mine... “  
“Who she doesn't like.” Tom smiled at his embarrassed friend. “It is all right. I know she does not like me. She only likes purebloods.”  
Alphard grimaced again, but nodded. He could hardly deny it.  
“Anyway, did you get any tips to sneak into the Forest?” Tom asked, taking advantage of the fact they were alone in the carriage.  
Alphard sighed. “Yes. Basically: don't. Apparently my cousins want to take care of their “baby cousin”.” He pouted. “Other than that, they said to not trust the marks we could make on the trees to get out, and not venture very far because it's not wizards territory.” He frowned. “It's right on the grounds of Hogwarts.”  
“Maybe it's like the Lake, with the mermaids.” pointed Tom.  
“Probably. Anyway I whined until one taught me a compass spell to not lose our way. It is pretty easy to do.” He took out his wand and laid it flat on his palm. “Point me.” The want elevated slightly and turned, pointing directly to one direction. “That's the North. It can be more reliable than a compass in the Forest, and that way we don't have to carry one.”  
Not that they had one, as far as Tom knew. “Well, that's useful at least. We already knew it's dangerous and we shouldn't venture deep in the forest,” not right away anyway, “but I didn't know the spell. Point me.” His wand hovered obediently and pointed unerringly North. “Pretty easy to do.”

Tom applauded politely each time a new Slytherin got sorted, even if he didn't care about it much. It felt good to be one of the returning students and not a new one, still. This Welcoming Feast would go better than the last one, anyway.  
He raised an eyebrow when the last first-year got sent to Gryffindor. “Weasley? Is he the son or grandson of the Flying professor?”  
Alphard was helping himself to the mashed potatoes already. “They're a large family. Professor Weasley doesn't have children, though.” Lower, he said. “He's married to a man anyway.”  
Tom startled. “To a man?”  
Alphard looked at him curiously. “Yeah. It isn't much done in pureblood families, but Weasleys don't abide to tradition much. It's not a crime though, why are you looking like that?”  
“It's weird.” Tom frowned. “I was taught a man should be with a woman.”  
“Maybe it's a Muggle thing.” For once, he didn't sound awed when he said that. “Well, there are wizards who don't like it, but. You know.”  
Tom shook his head. If wizards didn't find it anormal, he wouldn't. He was a wizard, not a Muggle.  
Alphard continued, defensive. “I think it's fine, in my family we do arranged marriages anyway, but it was known that Great-Aunt Ursa was with a woman and her husband didn't care. I don't know what you've been taught, but it's fine and”  
“I didn't know.” Tom interrupted. “You're right. I don't care anyway. I don't want to be with a boy, but again I don't want to be with a girl either, so I don't care.”  
Alphard nodded, looking a little rasserened. “I suppose that is good. Can we talk about something else?”  
“Yes” Tom said, relieved. The others at the table weren't listening to them, but he didn't want to make a social blunder in case they started to get interested in the conversation. He suspected that muggleborn and halfblood wizards may have other opinions, but Slytherin was majorly pureblood anyway.

*

There was a girl in Dumbledore's office when he went there at the end of the first week.  
“Come in, Tom.” the professor had said, and he did, but he wasn't alone. “Miss McGonagall was just leaving.”  
The girl – Gryffindor, way taller than he was, with a long braid falling on her right side – gave him a short nod and took her leave. She had a slight Scottish accent, Tom noted when she bid goodbye to the professor.  
He felt a little irritated that he hadn't been alone. “Why was she here?” he said, a little harsher than he intended, as he took a seat and a lemon drop (he had stopped pretending he didn't want any during the course of the summer).  
The professor looked at him piercingly but didn't comment. “Minerva McGonagall, a third-year Gryffindor. She came to ask me for Transfiguration lessons, and I think I will grant her her wish.”  
“Remedial lessons?”  
“Oh, on the contrary, she has demonstrated remarkable ability and interest for the subject. I want to endeavour to encourage her.” He folded his hands and twinkled at Tom. “Of course, you needn't worry, I will not drop in my obligations towards you.”  
“I wasn't worried” Tom said primly, and knew it was a lie. He felt his cheeks redden, and strove to change the subject. “We are at Hogwarts now. Can I cast the Patronus?”  
The professor nodded. “Of course. I am surprised you didn't try on your own.”  
Tom shifted uneasily. “I did. But I only get white mist. Maybe you could tell me what I am doing wrong.”  
Dumbledore's eyes turned intent. “Show me.”

“Expecto Patronum!” he intoned precisely, his wand movements sharp. A white mist coalesced at the tip of his wand, and nothing more.  
“I trust you're immersing yourself in the feeling of the memory?” Tom nodded impatiently. “It may not be happy enough.”  
“It's the happiest one I have.” mumbled Tom.  
The professor looked rather sad at that. “Try to think more about the memory than about casting the spell. You start off learning magic by learning to be precise in your spells, but try to be vague. Feeling, not technique, right now. The Patronus spell is more feeling.”  
“I will try.”  
He closed his eyes. The moment he got his wand. He had been warm. He had been magic. He had been powerful. He had felt a connection, a connection he still felt right now, in his fingers and his arm and his soul. “Expecto Patronum”, he whispered, and felt happiness course through him... When he opened his eyes, he saw white mist, heavy mist, that almost had a form, but no Patronus. He let his hand fall, and the mist disappeared.  
“I don't get what I do wrong now.” he said, anger clipping his words.  
“You were closer. It is by far the best I have seen a wizard as young as yourself do.” soothed the professor, but Tom didn't need soothing.  
“You haven't taught the Patronus spell to others, though. You can't compare.” His fingers clasped his wand tightly. “I need to do better.”  
“Why do you need to?”  
“I need to be better. I need to be strong.” He looked up, his eyes blazing. “I was closer, but it is not enough.”  
Dumbledore sighed. “You are too angry to do anything now. You are on the right path, Tom. You have to walk it, not skip straight to the destination.”

The meeting didn't last long after that, and he fled to the edge of the Forest. He hadn't found Nagini yet, either they missed each other or she had abandoned him.  
“Expecto Patronum!” White mist.  
“Expecto Patronum!” White mist.  
Again and again and again.  
“There you are.” He opened his eyes to find Nagini slithering towards him. “I have sssearched for you and you were not there.”  
He felt his anger leaving him, as he kneeled to greet her. “Yess. I have sssearched for you, too. Is the Foressst interessting?”  
She balanced her head from side to side. “Yesss. Lotss of creatures. Lotsss of prey.”  
She chatted to him about what she had found, and complained about the cold coming, and offered to bring him “better mice than what is in your garden” (“no, thank you” he said). When she slithered back to where she had come from with a promise to meet again here (she didn't understand he had to be often in the castle and not in the forest, but classified it as a “human thing” apparently), he felt a smile on his face.  
He had still his wand in his hand. “Expecto Patronum” he said, before he could change his mind, and a huge silver shape emerged and turned to look at him.  
It was a snake, bigger than any he had ever seen, and it was eye to eye with him. He extended his hand and when he was about to touch it, it disappeared, but it didn't take the happiness with it.  
He had done it. He had done a spell no one thought a twelve years old could do.  
Of course, it wasn't against a Dementor, but still. He was great, and he would become the greatest wizard that ever lived.

*

They snuck into the Forest on a sunny Saturday afternoon. It was not really sneaking, really, they just walked into it. They did make sure nobody was looking at them when they went towards it, and past the groundkeeper's hut. The groundkeeper herself was not here, her house was tightly shut and not a sound was coming from it or from the nearby vegetable patch. They stayed widely away from the Care of Magical Creatures enclosure, sometimes people came and went there, and went through the trees.  
They were wide and tall, sometimes covered in moss and sometimes suspiciously bare. Tom looked up, and could barely see the blue of the sky through the tree tops. From time to time a bird flew between the trees, and he also saw a squirrel or something like it move in the branches.  
He squatted to examine a multicolored mushroom and breathed in the earthy scents of the forest. It felt alive, in a way he could not explain, in a way that had nothing to do with the animals rustling about or the plant life all around them. He knew it was home to magical creatures, did they impress their magic upon the forest, or had the forest been magical and that's why they lived there?

They continued on, through the flickering shadows made by the leaves.  
“Hey, look at that.” Alphard pointed to the base of a tree. Tom looked closer, and saw that burrowed among the tree roots, there was a tiny rustic house.  
“Home of a forest gnome?”  
“Probably. It looks nice, it even has flowers tied on the door.”  
“I didn't know gnomes liked to decorate.”

As they went on, the colors subtly changed around them. They became more vibrant, more alive; it was such a graduate change that Tom hadn't noticed it at first. But now that he did, he thought it looked wondrous and, yes, magical.  
An arrow zoomed past his head and deep into a tree. They froze, Alphard a step behind him.  
“This is not your place. You are children, so you get a chance. Go away now, and do not come back.”  
Tom searched franctically for the source of the voice, and found nothing. It was a deep voice, who talked carefully around the edges of words like someone speaking a second language.  
“Go away. Now.”  
They turned tail and ran. They knew when they had a chance, and when they didn't.  
When they felt they were safe, the groundskeeper's hut in sight, they stopped and breathed deeply, trying to catch their breath.  
“I didn't see who it was.”  
Alphard shook his head. “Me neither. But I think it was a centaur.”  
“That's bad. They hate humans.”  
“I guess sneaking into the forest is over before it really started.”  
Tom opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it and nodded. He had felt something in the forest. Something powerful.  
He would go back, but not anytime soon. He knew that if he step foot into the centaurs' territory again, they would kill him.  
He needed to become powerful first, or learn how to get past centaurs. It wouldn't be learned in a day. But he had years.

*

Tom always wanted. He wanted with all his heart, for the whole of magic to be open to him. He woke up and wanted, went to bed and wanted, always.  
He was wanting while pacing on the seventh floor, waiting for Alphard who had stayed behind to talk to professor Dumbledore after Transfiguration, and a door appeared in the wall.  
He went through it, thoughts of Alphard forgotten. He wouldn't be who he was if he didn't go forward, or decided to not go through a door that could lead to knowledge.  
It was a storage room, but one unlike any Tom had ever seen. This one, he was sure, held treasure.  
For one, it was huge. Piles and piles of items, making a gigantic maze. Also, it was a secret room in a thousand-years-old castle of witches and wizards.  
He lost himself in it, letting hours pass as he went through old diaries of people long dead, personal belongings that belonged to no one anymore, and even a few swords that he tried. He pocketed an expensive-looking necklace and set out.  
When he closed the door behind him, it disappeared through the wall.

Alphard had not been surprised that he hadn't waited for him. He knew Tom was selfish, and Tom knew that he knew that. He wasn't going to say sorry, and he found he didn't quite want to share what he had found either.  
He went to bed early and woke up even earlier than usual, especially considering he had a free period first thing in the morning, showered and dressed efficiently and quietly, and went alone to the kitchen.  
House-Elves knew the castle, and even if he wasn't their Master, he believed he could be pretty sure that they wouldn't volunteer the information that he had asked about a weird room. House-Elves didn't volunteer information when they weren't asked.  
The kitchens were always busy, but they always had a moment for a wizard. Their deference irked him sometimes, but it was handy and he did like the attention he received.  
He accepted an offer of breakfast, and asked as he buttered a scone: “I have a question about a room of the castle.”  
The elf looked at him with huge eyes. He thought he wasn't Effy, but he wasn't sure. He didn't much care. “The door appeared in the seventh floor when I paced along the wall, and it was full of random objects. It's not the first time I went to this corridor, but it's the first time this door appeared. What do you know about it?”  
He assumed a commanding tone without thinking about it, like he did at the orphanage when he wanted something, and of course the Elf fell over himself to answer. “Oh, Izzy knows about it!” So it really wasn't Effy then, he noted distractedly. “All the Elfs know! It is the Come and Go Room, sir. If you really want something, you pace along the wall and think about what you want the Room to become.”  
Tom nodded. “I see.” So it wasn't just a storage room. Maybe he found the storage room because it was the default state of the room? But why had it popped out at all?  
He had a lot of questions about the room – what were its limitations, for one, but this was enough. He could experiment for the rest, now that he knew what it was and how to get into it.

In the next few weeks, he spent all of his free time experimenting with the Room. He was aware he was neglecting his relationships, but it wasn't as important as this. Or as interesting. It was nice, but the Room was magic and made wishes true.  
He had established it couldn't make food, or living things, or landscapes (but after all, that was full of living things), but other than that... It could have books, but he thought it could only be books from the library, except the restricted section – he had noted down the titles and checked the library every time, and every time there wasn't a book produced by the room that he couldn't find there. 

*

“You're never there anymore.” Alphard had cornered him after one of their classes, thankfully out of hearing of the other students. “Do you have something important to do that you have to do alone?”  
Tom bristled at the accusing tone. Alphard was never confrontational, and this was why their relationship had been sailing smoothly, but apparently he had had enough. And Tom wasn't good with people, except those he saw as things. “Yes.” he said shortly. “Why do you care anyway?”  
“I'm your friend, you idiot! I know you're... well, you, so I left you space, but it's been weeks...”  
“What do you mean, I'm me?” Tom asked icily.  
“You need space. You're independent. You don't like people – you're not good with people, Tom! I tried to be a good friend to you, and I still try – but why are you pushing me away?”  
Tom frowned. “I haven't been. I just have things to do.” He was angry, why couldn't people just leave him alone and be there only when it was convenient? He knew he was unjust, but he had been so happy exploring the Room.  
“We can do them together, can't we?” Alphard had his hands into fists. “But no, you're only there in class and barely there at mealtimes and you barely talk – you don't even do your essays in the library or the common room anymore. Where are you going?”  
Tom took a step back, offended. This was private. This was his. “Guess you won't know.”  
He turned away, ignoring Alphard that called him selfish and an idiot again – it wasn't eloquent.  
He didn't care. He had magic, and he had the Room, and the whole castle. The idea of sharing had been curiously tempting, but when it came to actually sharing, he hadn't wanted to, and now he didn't have to. This was a good thing. 

He didn't miss Alphard the days following. He had the Room, he told himself. It was a wondrous thing.

He still didn't miss Alphard after that. He explored the grounds, and then the castle as the days turned shorter and colder.

He still didn't miss Alphard as he saw him in the corridors, in class, laughing with his peers or even just talking, while Tom was alone and unbothered. 

It was almost the Christmas holidays when he relented. He did miss him. There was a difference between being alone when he chose it, and being alone because no one wanted to spend time with him.

It was easy to talk to Alphard alone. He knew when he went to the Library, and it wasn't like he was in a study group.  
“Yes?” he said neutrally when Tom approached, looking every bit like the stuck-up pureblood he should have been if he had taken after his father. It hurt a bit to see this, the cold eyes, no humor in the quirk of the mouth.  
Tom had a plan anyway. “I want to show you something.” It was hard to make himself say the words. “That I should have showed you weeks ago.”

Alphard considered him, then he sighed and closed his eyes briefly. Tom didn't know if he had it in him to say sorry, so he hoped it would not come to that. “I'll come.”  
Tom let out a breath. “It's on the seventh floor. I'll show you.”  
They went up in silence, and not one of the comfortable ones they had shared so often. This one was loaded, and heavy, and too tight on its edges. He didn't know how to break it, even as he opened his mouth to say something several times, he always closed it without a word.  
They stopped on the corridor, in front of the bare wall which hid all the possibles.  
Tom cleared his throat. “If you pace here, and think about something you want, there's a Room that appears. It can become almost anything – except it can't make living things, or food.”  
He expected Alphard to try it, but he stayed where he was.  
Finally, he spoke. “So it's what you've been doing for weeks? Ignoring me so you could do... “ he gestured at the wall. “... This?”  
Tom had no answer.  
Alphard huffed and paced angrily. No door appeared.  
He laughed at that, but it wasn't the clear laugh that Tom was used to. “I asked for a way to make you understand what was wrong, and apparently it can't give that.”  
Tom was crossing his arms, still silent.  
Alphard looked defeated, and he ran his hand through his hair – it had been getting slightly longer.  
“Look – it's not even about the past weeks. I mean, it wasn't great, but it's just an extension of what you do. I.” He visibly braced himself. “I care about you. I don't know why. I don't think you care about me.” He grimaced. “Anyway. I said enough.”  
He turned away and disappeared in the lower levels of the castle, leaving Tom there, near a Room that he had for himself.  
It didn't hold quite the appeal it used to.

*

Snow coated the grounds of Hogwarts and the Lake had iced over. Tom, perched on a windowsill near the Charms classroom, wondered how was life underwater during wintertime. He had learned some mermish, but the professor was right – he needed someone to teach him. He hadn't kept up with it well, either, too busy with everything else. At least classes were still easy, and he worked each spell until he understood it perfectly, instead of just getting good enough at it the way too many did. He didn't understand, why could some students think classes and essays were boring? It was magic!  
The Christmas holidays had just started, and Alphard was going back into his family without speaking to Tom again, as did most of Slytherin, except a few upper years who wanted to study for OWLs and NEWTs already.  
He hoped to spend the holidays finding more mysteries of the castle. He could explore the grounds too but warming charms could only do so much, and he didn't like getting cold and wet.  
“Hey” said a Ravenclaw girl. Tom turned his head to her. “We're going to organize a huge snowfight before everyone leaves for the holidays. Want to come? We'll do it at the training grounds.”  
“There's only you there, who's we?”  
“A lot of lower-years and the upper-years that aren't too stuck up for a bit of fun. Some Hufflepuffs got the idea, and it was fun, so me and several other people are trying to round up more people.”  
Tom shrugged and wrinkled his nose. “No, thanks. I don't want to be cold and wet.”  
“Suit yourself” she said, and with a wave she disappeared. He heard her mutter “stuck-up” under her breath as she rounded the corner. He didn't care.

He waited a while and when he felt sure that nobody else would ask him to join some stupid snowfight, slinked down to the library. He had neglected his search for his parentage recently, and he had still some books on wizarding history he could try, without much hope – his father's name wasn't on the trophy room, wasn't on the old prefect list, wasn't in the books he had already tried...  
He would still look, and if it yielded nothing, he still had his middle name. Marvolo. And parseltongue, even if he had only founds simple descriptions of it in books about magical languages. That wasn't much to go on, but go on he would.

*

The castle felt empty and in a way, cozy (as much as a millenia-old castle could). One of the suits of armor on the fourth floor was wearing a christmas sweater, snowflakes slowly falling endlessly. Clothing with moving images was considered gaudy by most, but Tom would really like to wear some, not that he would tell anyone that. Or had any money to buy any.  
He was poking around the Seventh floor now, after eating breakfast in the kitchens. He had to pop down to the Great Halls for meals, or else he was sure that professor Dumbledore would want to know where he was eating, and he didn't want to give up the kitchen secret. But breakfast, he could get away with. He could reasonably be expected to sleep in, even if he wasn't the kind to do that, except when he was up at night experimenting or reading.  
He ducked under a huge tapestry and patted the wall. There was disappointingly nothing there, except dust. He sneezed and banged his forehead on the wall. That hadn't been very smooth.  
They were several days into the holidays, and he had found nothing new. His essays were taken care of already, so he was all free to do whatever he liked. Whatever he liked happened to be lurking in corners and haunting the library, and he was making no progress except adding more things to the pile of things he had examined. 

He went down to the sixth floor, letting his hand trail on the ramp. It was early in the day, and he didn't expect to see anyone. A ray of sunlight behind a door caught his attention. He turned his head left to the window and – yes, the sky was still dark. And this door was to a broom closet, wasn't it?  
Heart thumping, he ran to the door and pressed his hand to it. It thrummed under his palm, and it opened onto a bright day. He shielded his eyes. There was vegetation growing wildly, and he could hear a small stream in the distance. The smell of flowers was enchanting and wildly off-season. He looked up, but couldn't see the sky, covered by the tree branches up high. Only rays of sunlight filtered through.  
He advanced slowly, leaving bright markings on trees with his wand, so he wouldn't get lost. There was the stream, clear water dancing amongst rocks, and near it was a stone table. It was glowing with runes, and Tom felt something pulling at him, and he was at ease and content and happy and there was a crystal at the center, he pulsed invitingly, and he felt so warm and so loved like he was in his mother's arms and – his thoughts ground to a halt.  
He wasn't thinking this. No, he thought forcefully, go away. The runes' glow slowly receded, and the crystal became a mundane rock.  
This place was beautiful, and full of magic, but the hair on his neck rose. He was afraid now.  
He turned and ran to the door, thankful for his bright markings, but when he opened it there was just a wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like putting mysterious places into Hogwarts.


	7. Year 2 Part 2

Albus hadn't seen Tom all day. He usually was in the great hall at mealtimes, except breakfast, and he knew the propension that a bright young boy had to get into trouble, so he couldn't help but worry. He couldn't have left the castle, at least. Probably. He would start his search in the dungeons, and work his way up. If he didn't find anything and the boy wasn't at dinner, he would get help, but for now it may still be nothing.  
At least he was attuned to the magic of the castle, and most of the student body and staff was either away or casting less than usual. He breathed deeply, his right hand to the wall, and worked on sensing the magic It was tricky work, and not always reliable, but if there had been an unusual quantity or quality of magic nearby, he would feel it.  
In the fifth floor, he felt something strange from above. He knew that slippery strangeness, and he cursed under his breath. He didn't know that it was still there. He followed the strange magic to a blank wall, but this was a wizard school and he was a professor there. He had ownership of the place, more than the strange magic. He put his hand to the wall and pushed, and demanded for it to open, sure of his right. It fought, but it was a losing fight, and an handle appeared reluctantly under his fingers.

When he pushed the door open, he was relieved to see Tom there, pale in the golden sun rays, hugging his knees in the verdant grass.  
“Professor?” he said, eyes widening. He had never looked more his age, a pale and frightened twelve – almost thirteen, years old boy, relieved to see help.  
He kneeled in front of him. “Tom, this is very important – have you eaten or drank anything there?”  
Tom shook his head. “No. I wasn't sure it was what it seemed. There was a strange crystal and runes, but I didn't touch it either.”  
Albus felt his shoulders sag in relief. “Good. Very good. Come now, we should not delay going back to the castle.”  
The door had stayed open moodily, and Albus took Tom's hand in his own (he didn't fight it and even grasped it tightly), and they went back to Hogwarts and winter.

“What was that, sir?” asked Tom quietly. “Where was that?” He seemed to realize he was still gripping his hand, and released it quickly.  
“This was an entrance made by Fae.” Albus sighed. “They do what they please, and they can be very dangerous still, even if their power has waned in the last few centuries – they only have scraps now. I will make sure they can't seep their magic into Hogwarts again.”  
Tom held his head down, fiddling with the hem of his robes.  
“I am sorry you got caught in this, Tom. I didn't think they could set foot into Hogwarts, but their magic is tricky.”  
“I could have been trapped in here forever! I tried every unlocking charm I knew, and the revealing charm I know, and I could do nothing. I was powerless.” Tom was livid, Albus saw, and that anger was mostly directed at himself and his perceived weakness.  
“You couldn't get out on your own yet” Albus agreed. He could chastise him for behaving imprudently, or forbid him to go explore, but that would do nothing, the boy would become closed off. And Tom wasn't at fault there. “But you held out long enough for me to come find you. You realized you shouldn't consume anything in there. And the crystal with the runes – did it call to you?”  
Tom blinked. “Yes, actually. But I realized it wasn't me feeling or thinking.”  
“You had enormous mental fortitude”, Albus soothed. “You are young, but you knew your mind and you refused to be lured. You did good in there.”  
Tom nodded, his anger slowly seeping away.  
“You will learn more and, most importantly” Albus stressed, “you will have help.” He put his hand on the boy's shoulder, and Tom's eyes rose up to meet his. “You are not alone in this world. I came to your aid.”  
Tom nodded imperceptibly. He wasn't convinced yet, but there was hope.  
“I will give you a way to contact me if you are trapped again.”  
More than anything, the fact that Tom didn't insist that he didn't need it was revealing how afraid he had been, trapped in a place he couldn't trust. 

*

After finding the door, Tom kept a low profile and concentrated on his studies and the search for his parentage. The former was going better than the latter, unfortunately. He hadn't seen any mention of Tom Riddle anywhere, and he didn't know where to begin looking for Marvolo. He was sure he hadn't seen any Marvolo either. It was Christmas Eve, and he was deep in books in his dormitory. He had spent the last few days mostly holed up in there, unwilling to go to the common room when he had the dormitory all for himself. And he didn't want to explore again just yet, it was only prudent to wait for the way to contact Dumbledore that he had promised him, if the professor hadn't forgotten. He had carefully avoided Dumbledore since The Door Incident (he capitalized the words in his head), a little afraid of what had transpired. He had been weak, but not entirely. His mind had been strong, whatever that meant. He had had help when he needed it, while he had been so sure it was get out himself or stay there forever.  
He didn't know how to feel about this. Needing help was bad, he knew that much, but getting help – he had been relieved. And, yes, happy.  
He would still strive to be self-sufficient, but maybe, just maybe, he could rely on others, if all else failed.

But all else wouldn't always fail, he thought as he traced a wand movement for the Jellylegs Jinx drawn in the book on his lap absently. He was learning every day, and one day he would be the one doing the rescue, not the one rescued.  
He blushed at that thought. Getting help was bad for the brain. Since when did he care what trouble others got into?  
But if Alphard had been in his place, and Tom had the power to help... He would have. Alphard didn't deserve to be trapped by... Fae, as much as Tom hadn't either.  
And the situation with Alphard had lasted far too long. When he got back from the holidays... Tom would do what was necessary.

He would need to at least ask the professor about the runes, he decided. He had searched about runes, but all he found was language books, and those had not looked magical. He was sure it wasn't just a language, and he couldn't find anything about it in the runes section – only dry dictionaries and grammar books. He had tried to spot the runes he had seen, but he didn't even know what language they were, and he didn't remember enough about their shapes.  
Magic was so vast. It was dangerous also, but all had been well in the end after all. He fell asleep on his book, and blinked himself awake early on Christmas day.  
Other children would probably be feeling anticipation, but Tom didn't expect any presents.  
He yawned and eyed suspiciously the foot of his bed. There was a package there, and sudden anticipation took him.  
The card was from Dumbledore.  
A very merry Christmas to you, Tom. In the package is what I promised you – simply say my name when you need me, and I shall answer. I know you will be responsible with it. I also gave you some things you can't ever get enough of.  
Albus Dumbledore  
He opened the package carefully, careful not to tear the paper – he saw now that it changed colors slowly, and had gone from blue to purple. There was a mirror, probably the way to contact the professor. He would keep it on him, and ask more about it.  
As for what the professor considered things you can't get enough of – several pair of socks, and sweets, including of course lemon drops. He wasn't enthusiastic about the socks, until he saw that the patterns moved.  
He grinned to himself, because nobody was there to see it. It was brilliant. He could wear the “gaudy” clothing he found great, and nobody had to know.  
He popped a lemon drop in his mouth, and enjoyed the sourness as he examined the other sweets.  
Even without Alphard, Christmas at Hogwarts was always a joy. And he still had the Feast to look forward to.

*

He didn't want to talk about (he shuddered) feelings. That was girls talk, he thought rather uncharitably. Not that he knew a lot about what girls talked about, really.  
Alphard apparently required this of him. He couldn't be satisfied with just going to how things used to be.  
That was a problem.  
But it was necessary. He had already made his decision.  
“Alphard.” he said. They were in the library again. Last time it hadn't gone well, but he would try again. “I want to talk. I thought about what you said.”  
Alphard nodded and put his quill down.  
“I care about you.” Tom said through his teeth. “I didn't have friends. I don't know how to do this. I miss you.” He steeled himself and locked eyes with Alphard, whose cheeks reddened. “I wanted to be how we used to be, but maybe I can try.” He avoided his eyes again. “To be more of a... friend.” He inspired and did one of the things he had swore never to do. “Please? I'm sorry. I want to fix this.”  
Alphard smiled at him, and this was a real smile. “I have missed you too, Tom.”

They slowly returned to normal after that, as Tom tried to be more open. Tried to think of Alphard too, and not just himself (he would always think of himself first, and that was fine).  
He didn't see all this as progress, but progress it was.

*

“Behind the door...” it was the first time Tom had decided to talk about this again. Albus folded his hands and listened intently. “There was a stone table, with a crystal, as I already said. And magical runes... “  
“Yes?” he prompted, as Tom trailed off.  
“There was something magical about these runes, sir. But in the Runes section in the library, I saw only language books.”  
“Ah.” Dumbledore smiled. “It is what runes are. A language.”  
“A magical language.” Tom insisted.  
“I'm afraid not.” He smiled larger. “Not any more than English. Now Parseltongue, you could argue that it is a magical language, since it comes from magic, but even then, it only enables you to speak to snakes – that in itself is a feat, but still.”  
“Snakes listen to me and obey me, sir.” Tom objected.  
Albus cocked his head. “Because you speak to them, and because as I understand, they have a tradition to listen to those humans who can speak to them – but you can't compel them magically with Parseltongue.” He let Tom mull over that a moment. “Now, you said the runes were magical, and I don't doubt that they were. But it's not the runes themselves that did the magic. It is the beings who carved the runes, because those runes meant something to them, because it was their language.”  
Tom was looking at him intently. “I thought if I learned the power of runes...”  
“You would be better served to use English, or any language you know intimately – even a language you make up. You see, Tom, the important thing when you carve a spell into a word, is to understand deeply the spell and the word. You can bind a spell to a word, because language is powerful, and the written word can withstand time, but it only has that power if the spellcaster understands the word and gives that understanding to the magic he weaves.”  
Tom frowned. “So I could for example, carve “sharp” onto the blade of a knife, and bind a spell to keep it sharp, and it would hold better than just a spell?”  
“Basically, yes. You can do with just a spell, but if you want to be very sure that it will stay there, even after your death, you need to embed yourself into it and bind it – spells tend to break after the death of the caster, but bound spells... The pyramids builders, they carved curses inside the tombs, and this is what they did – and after thousands of years, sometimes the curse was weakened, but if the caster had truly put his mind to it, knew what he was doing, and was talented, it was as strong as ever.”  
Tom looked a little put out at the edges. “I really thought runes were special” he mumbled.  
Albus twinkled at him. “It is always useful to be able to read them, you never know if you need to read a warning or a curse written in runes. And, also, even in the present days, there are those who bind their spells in runes – or in latin, or ancient greek, in some cases. As I understand, they think it looks better.”  
Tom nodded. “It makes them look smarter than they are.”  
Albus smiled. “I think this is what they aim for. They have expertise, to be able to do this, but they want to add a little panache. I am not sure I blame them.”

Tom stayed silent for a moment. “I know you are already teaching me mermish, sir, but I would like extra lessons in Transfiguration.”  
Albus knew that Tom didn't mean remedial lessons. He excelled. “Like I teach Minerva?” The boy nodded.  
Albus didn't know what had prompted that, but he could guess. Maybe Tom was afraid he was giving his attention on his favorite subject to another. Maybe he was jealous. In any case, he could use this. Tom needed more friends... And Albus meddled.  
“I think you would be well-served by being taught by Minerva.” Tom started to protest, obviously. “Let me finish. You both could profit of this. She will teach something, which will be great to deepen her understanding of this magic, and you will get I have no doubt excellent lessons.” And hopefully see that your peers can teach you some things you don't know, he didn't add. “I assure you, if it's not to your satisfaction after let's say two months, I will take over.”  
Tom brightened at that. He didn't need to use Legilimency to know that Tom planned to wait two months, and then have his lessons with Albus.  
He hoped that it would not come to that.  
“Fine, sir.”  
“I will ask her. I have no doubt she will agree.”  
Minerva always jumped at the chance to do more Transfiguration. A bright child, with a passion for his subject that rivaled his own. And she wanted to become a professor, after all.

*

Lessons with Minerva weren't horrible. As winter slowly morphed into spring, he learnt a lot of things.  
He had been very recalcitrant in the beginning, but it was apparent she was better than him at it, and it wasn't only because she was one year ahead of him – he was better than the second years, and she was better than the third years. She had a grasp of Transfiguration that he didn't (yet) have.

And he reluctanctly liked her. She was no-nonsense, direct and to the point. He could even respect her. She expected him to understand fast was she was talking about, and wasn't treating him like a baby like some older children tended to do. She respected his abilities, and in turn he respected her.  
When the two months were up, he didn't ask the professor to have his lessons with him instead.

And Minerva was also great at flying. She was in the Quidditch team; he already knew that – but she also understood the freedom that flying procured.  
“We should be able to fly without broom” he told her one day on the training grounds. She had invited him to go flying with her, and he had agreed.  
He had expected her to act surprised and tell him it wasn't possible, but she just nodded. “I agree. I tried, even.” She grimaced. “I just fell over.”  
They shot into the air and flew serenely for a moment.  
“Hey, Tom! Race you to the edge of the Forest?”  
He pretended to consider it, and then just accelerated suddenly. He heard her exclaim “not fair!” and zoom after him, and he laughed.  
He won that race, but lost every other one.

*

When spring was in full swing, he introduced Alphard to Nagini.

He hadn't planned on it at first, of course. He still kept his parseltongue a secret. He had committed to try, though, and when he committed, he didn't back off after that.  
“You have to tell no one” he stressed, where they were on the edge of the Forest where he usually met Nagini. “It's not that I don't trust you, but I was supposed to tell no one at all.”  
“It's okay. I won't tell anyone. We're not going into the Forest again, right?”  
“No, we'll stay here. She usually comes by at this hour.”  
“She?” Alphard wiggled his eyebrows. “Do you have a secret girlfriend?”  
Tom frowned. “Of course not.” He spotted something slithering towards them. She had really been getting bigger, she was easily thrice the size of a garden snake now. He hissed “It's okay, Nagini, he's a friend.” and registered Alphard startling next to him, at the parseltongue or at the snake raising her head towards them.

The Muggles had been afraid of snakes. He hoped that a wizard, and a Slytherin one at that, would not be, but he was tense. It was a gamble, even if it was one he was ready to take. At worst, people would know he was a parselmouth, and he had decided it wouldn't be so bad, even if he preferred to choose the time of revealing that. It could even improve his standing in Slytherin. Their founder had been a parselmouth, and all of his bloodline – he had dreamed sometimes of being the heir of Slytherin, but all he could find pointed to the family being extinct.  
Alphard had kneeled next to him, and looked at Nagini. He didn't look repulsed, at least, more intrigued.  
He turned bright eyes on him. “She's gorgeous, Tom. Is she a magical snake?”  
“I'm not sure. She says she's not, that she's a blessed garden snake. I'm not sure what that means?”  
Alphard shook his head. “I'm not knowledgeable in snakes. You must know a lot more than me.” He grinned. “You really fit into Slytherin. A parselmouth! You could be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself.”  
Nagini had curled up on a warm rock and didn't pay any attention to them, having determined Alphard wasn't a treat. She was curious, but the sun was more important, especially after winter.  
He stroked her head gently and she hissed with contentment.  
“I don't think so.” He tried not to sound too dejected. “I thought about it, of course. It would have been great. But all I could find in what's in the wizarding bloodlines in the library points to the family being extinct. They weren't that many to begin with and apparently they married each other...” He grimaced, and Alphard too.  
“We marry between cousins sometimes, but some take the idea of blood purity” he made air quotes with his hands, “even farther. I won't marry a woman that's too closely related to me.” he muttered. “Imagine marrying Walburga.”  
“No, thanks.” Tom said primly, and Alphard snickered.  
“That said, the library isn't great for researching bloodlines. I could search the Black library.”  
Tom paused. Searching the Black library – or any other pureblood's library, at least pureblood that was interested in blood purity to this degree – was something he hadn't thought was possible. But Alphard could do it for him.  
That said, he didn't know if he was ready for someone else to research his parentage.  
He stayed silent too long, and Alphard took the hint. “It's alright, I don't have to. You can just ask me if you want me to do it, okay? I can't give you access to it, and I can't take out books, I can only search for you, as long as Father is here.”  
Tom nodded, relieved. This was better.  
“I thought your father was never home?”  
Alphard shrugged. “He's not, but the library is the Black library, and it's his, you know? If someone else comes in or if a book is removed, he would know. I just have the right to use it.”  
That was inconvenient, but at least he had a possibility he hadn't before.

“I usually keep secrets”, he said instead. That was true enough. “Some think it's a dark gift, that only dark wizards have, too. I don't want the publicity. I don't even want the publicity of those who think it's great. It's just... “ he made an encompassing gesture. “I was born with it. I want to be known for the things I do. It's like blood, I don't know how pure my blood is, but I don't want it to matter. I want to be so great that it doesn't matter to anyone.” He paused after his passionnated speech, cheeks reddened, but his head held high.  
Alphard also had gone a little red in the face, even if Tom had no idea why.  
“You'll be great, Tom, anyway.” he said, and then abruptly stood. “I'm going back to the castle. Please tell Nagini it was nice to meet her. And thank you for trusting me.” he said earnestly.  
Tom watched him go. He would stay there a moment more. 

*

He found the unused cloister quite by accident. He was exploring the roofs of the castle, jumping over the tiles, trusting his magic to keep him out of grievous harm. Associating with Gryffindors may have made him a little reckless.  
The cloister was hidden by clever stonework, and he thought it was magic at first, but it really was just that. It was small, and hard to access, maybe someone had built a special retreat? Or maybe it used to be elsewhere, and the castle had changed it, but the stonework hiding it looked like it had been made like that by wizards, not my a half-sentient building.  
Inside there was overgrown grass, stone pillars, and a solitary bench. Climbing ivy was growing on the stone, but from what he could see, the stone was still in good condition.  
A derelict fountain, long without water, was in front of the bench. He imagined it in its prime, flowing water, probably flowers. It must have been peaceful.  
He kneeled next to the fountain. It was carved, and it had been colorful but the colors had mostly faded. A hint of red, green, blue – an array of hints of colors, and not much else. There had been fishes, and mermaids, and he cleared the inside of the fountain with a handwave. Yes, on the inside it wasn't engraved, but a glass mosaic, and this still had color. Blues and greens, and a hint of gold, woven together. The fountain really was the most fancy thing in this place – the bench and the pillars were simple stone, not showy, but this... He waved his wand at it, and some of the grime vanished.  
He tried harder, his tongue between his lips in concentration, and after some work it was pristine.  
He kneeled again, his left hand on the smooth edge of the fountain, and his wand in his right hand tracing the pattern of the engraved animals and people – for mermaids were people, after all.  
He didn't do a spell, he just willed it, and he knew his magic and he knew stone, and colors blossomed under his wand. He traced all the engravings, carefully, almost lovingly, learning all their details, and leaving them glinting and bright in his wake. He didn't notice time passing as he slowly made his way around, and then he took a step back.

But it was almost alive again, the fishes and the mermaids slowly moving, barely noticeable by the naked eye because stone wasn't fast – and he hadn't made them move, he didn't think. It must be a property of the fountain itself.  
Night was starting to fall, he noticed. He was late for dinner. But he would be back the next day, and he would bring water back to it.  
But when he went back the next day, it was already alive. Water surged from the tip of it, and cascaded down, pure and cold. It wasn't a biting cold, as he put his hand into it, but a refreshing one.  
He really didn't think someone had found this cloister just when he found it.  
Maybe, with the magic of the castle, and his care reawakening it – it had decided to fulfill its purpose as a fountain again.  
He sat on the bench, and looked at the flowing water for a moment.  
He wanted to bring his... his friends there. He wanted to show Alphard something beautiful he had helped make alive again. And keeping secrets from Alphard had already been bad one time.  
He wanted to bring Minerva, and watch her poke at the fountain and try to determine if Transfiguration had been involved in its creation.  
He even wanted to bring the twins, even if they were more summertime friends.  
He had changed.


	8. Second Summer

Tom's second summer in Hogsmeade was bright and full of light. War had broken out in the Muggle world, he knew that, but here was untouched. The orphanage was farther and farther away with each day that passed. He would always carry it with him, but he had been blessed in coming to the wizarding world, and where he used to feel a burning anger and lash out when he thought of his days in the orphanage, he only felt a healing wound now. It would always be a sore spot, but he didn't have to go back, and he didn't have to go back into an orphanage in a country at war, every summer.

No, he had Hogsmeade, the quaint little town that he was surprised how glad he was to see. Maybe he could have gone there at Christmas, after all – a consideration for next Christmas.  
The first summer had been too tense, but this time the professor told him he could call him Albus while they were there – he couldn't, he thought, but if it had been offered last year, he would have closed off. Now he could just tell himself that he wasn't ready, but it wasn't a reason to flee.

Summer also brought Ariana back. He didn't talk about death now, at least he usually didn't, but he still enjoyed her company. She was calm, and sweet, and sometimes got a wistful look on her face when the sunrays couldn't touch her.  
“Did you explore Hogsmeade when I wasn't there?”  
“I acquainted myself better with the town and a little outside it, yes. There may be something that interests you in a clearing.” She smiled mysteriously. “At least I think it interests children. I haven't told anyone about it.”  
“I'm not a child. I'm thirteen!” he said primly, and Ariana just smiled wider. But his curiosity was piqued.

Tom poked around clearings then. On one of them, not far from the professor's home, Tom found an old tree house. He hadn't spotted it from afar, he had been following a little stream to a patch of trees, but when he looked up to see if there were bird nests, he saw the tree house instead.  
It obviously hadn't been used recently, some planks were broken and it had once been painted bright, but the colors had been washed by repeated rain. There wasn't a ladder, but when he examined the tree trunk more closely, he saw that it could be easily climbed. Some parts of the trunk were darker, and when he put his hands to them, it adhered. A ladder made with magic, apparently. Fitting for a wizarding village. He climbed easily, trusting his magic to prevent him from dying by falling to his death – wizards were harder to kill than Muggles, after all.  
The door was still holding, but barely, and wide open. The cabin was bare, once there must have been toys and maybe some furniture but it wasn't there anymore. The windows had glass panels, but some were missing and all the remaining ones were cracked. 

It was great. It interested children, yes, but it interested him very maturely as a secret refuge. He could fix it up. He wasn't sure about using magic outside of the house, because there were no adults near him who could have cast instead of him, but there was a general store in town, and the professor had given him spending money. He could see if he could find anything there to fix the tree house.

He was back two days later, with tools and materials that he had bought or found – the forest was full of woods, and the little shop had had tools and interesting stuff.  
It had taken almost all of his allowance, but it was worth it – he had decided it would be his lair, his outpost, and he needed to fix it up. It had been a lot cheaper than he had thought, but he reasoned that most adult wizards could do all this with a wand, and the tools were mostly for children like him – cheap, then, or the shopkeeper wouldn't ever sell any.  
It was the work of a few days to make the outpost almost as good as new again. He had even painted it, very careful not to put paint on his clothes (he failed, but there was a stream nearby).  
He had snuck cushions and an almost not broken chair from the basement, and now he could consider it complete.

*

The summer was good. He had his refuge. He was even considering showing it to Mary and Oliver.  
He had the garden and he helped the plants grow (and gorged himself on blackberries).  
Then Alphard wrote him a letter.

I'm sorry, it said.  
Father learnt that my association with muggleborns and blood traitors isn't a passing fancy, it said.  
He's very angry, it said.  
I wasn't supposed to write you but, it said.  
Maybe we can be secret friends, it said.

Tom wrote back, his quill scratching angrily at the parchment, one single sentence.

I don't need secret friends.

*

Alphard didn't write again. He focused on friends that were not secret, then.

*

He was far away from war, but it wasn't the case for every wizard. He knew that some wizards were in this war, he had learned whispers about a great wizard (or a dark wizard, that depended on who you asked) named Grindelwald recruiting in Germany.  
“Who's Grindelwald?” He asked Dumbledore during the first week of August.  
He was watching his guardian intently, and would have missed the flash of hesitation and panic on his face if not for that.  
“He's a dark wizard, Tom. He is involved in the war, over in Germany, but this is not of your concern.” He said, in a forced tone.  
“You know more than that, though.” Tom pressed, taking a chance.  
“Not much, I am afraid.” Dumbledore said in a affable tone, and Tom knew it was a lie. He was watching, and he had caught Dumbledore unaware, or else he would have missed it.  
“You're lying” he said, utterly certain.  
Dumbledore avoided his eyes. “I do not wish to discuss it. It is none of your concern. Please don't ask me again.” he said, his tone firm.  
Tom wanted to insist, but one look at the professor's face dissuaded him. He knew this look. There was no reasoning with it.

He was tired of others keeping secrets.

*

Albus had feared for years the day he would hear from Gellert again. He knew it would come; Gellert was too brilliant to just disappear and not become someone you could hear about.  
His heart broke again when he learned he was using Hitler for his gains, and sending millions of Muggles – and some wizards he was sure – to their deaths.  
Hearing Tom asking him about Gellert had almost been too much, and it had caught him by surprise. Now Tom knew he was hiding something, and the boy wasn't someone that would just let go when told to.  
And indeed he didn't, asking always, sometimes more subtly than others, but never letting go. He tried dismissing it, he tried disciplining him, he tried what could be a believable lie – but no matter what he tried, Tom always came back to it.   
There was a time when he had wanted the boy to engage more with him, and now he had his wish. He couldn't regret it, though.

It really wasn't Tom's business, but he wouldn't let go. And perhaps there could be a lesson there, for a too-brilliant boy that he didn't want to go down the same path that he and Gellert did. And soon he'd find an occasion to ask Ariana, even as elusive as she was, and he didn't want Ariana to be asked about the two boys who caused her death – because he was concerned for her, but also he knew, because of cowardice on his part.

*

(He was too late.)  
Tom asked Ariana. And Ariana froze.  
She said, in a very calm voice “Never ask me about this boy.”  
And Ariana vanished.  
(He wouldn't see her for months).

*

Albus felt so old. It was like he had lived two lifetimes, as Tom had cornered him and demanded again to know.  
And he looked so vulnerable, as he said that he made Ariana go away, and it was Albus' fault because he was keeping secrets, and why was everyone keeping secrets?  
Albus didn't say that Tom also kept his fair share. The boy looked like he was discussing an open wound when he talked of secrets. He would not push.  
And he had known Tom wouldn't let go, and had let him ask Ariana about the boys who caused her death.

He made Tom sit, and told him the almost-whole story. 

*

Tom didn't know what to think.  
“So... You were friends with Grindelwald?”  
Dumbledore nodded. He looked twice his age.  
“You were brilliant – like me. You really were like me.” The idea of the professor as a young, foolish and brilliant boy like Tom, like he had described himself, was very hard to grasp.  
“Yes, Tom. I wanted to change the world, and I only caused Ariana's death.”  
“But it could have been Grindelwald!”  
Dumbledore looked old, old, old. “It does not matter who cast the last spell. I caused Ariana's death by wanting glory more than everything else. By neglecting my family. My duties.”  
An horrible thought seized Tom.  
“Is that... why you took care of me?”

Albus looked at him gravely.  
“I am not sure why I got involved with you as much as I did, Tom. It may have been that.” Tom's heart sank. “But, it did not last. I got interested in you, Tom.”  
Tom raised his head hopefully.  
“I got interested in you, and not because we were alike. Because you're you. Do you understand?”  
Tom wasn't sure, but he nodded.  
“I do think this story can be a lesson for you. I think you may have gone down a similar path. You still might, as brilliant and sure of yourself as you are. Still... You surprise me every day, in good ways.” He hesitated. “Your relationship with Alphard... “  
Tom's heart became ice.  
“There is no relationship” he said shortly. “Not anymore. Not with secrets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a transitional chapter, which is why I posted it at the same time as the previous one.  
> You may have noticed in the previous chapters that I changed some canon details that are not in the books (Minerva's age for example, we just don't know it in the books). I will make at least one other major change in the next chapter - again, a change that deviates from what is said outside of the books, but in the books we just don't know!  
> You will see. And next chapter will be the last one!


	9. Year 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted three chapters today, so make sure you're not reading this one before the two previous ones!

He usually sat in a compartment with Alphard, but that was obviously out of the question today.   
He found Minerva instead, with a girl he didn't know.  
“Can I sit there?” he asked.   
“Oh, Tom.” Minerva looked surprised. “Yes, of course. This is my - “ she blushed a little, “my girlfriend, Adèle.”  
Adèle nodded, looking a little disgruntled at the third wheel coming in. Tom refused to back down.   
“Nice to meet you.” he said neutrally, and took out a book.  
He spent the trip reading, and they soon forgot about him, giggling and sometimes (ew) kissing.  
He was fine that way.

All in all, Tom's third year was off to a boring and unmemorable start, until a first-year that was taller than adults got sorted into Slytherin. That got people whispering, and it reminded Tom uncomfortably of his own first year feast. His joy to discover Hogwarts, tainted by the very people who were now muttering “half-breed, certainly” under their breath.   
The child – Rubeus Hagrid, he remembered – seemed oblivious to it, at least, and ate with gusto. He had introduced himself brightly and not reacted when he got dubious reactions or stares.   
Tom, himself, was curious – the boy was obviously not all wizard, how did that work? - and he did feel a certain kinship. The mudblood and the halfbreed, both in Slytherin.  
He saw Abraxas, now a Prefect (that was disgusting, but Slughorn sucked up to Malfoys) looking disgustedly at Rubeus, the same way he usually looked at Tom, and that sealed it.  
Two years before, he had wanted the approval of his House, but now he had a solid reputation as a brilliant student and wizard. And he had friends, including a magical snake.  
At the end of the Feast, in view of his other Housemates, he extended his hand to the huge boy. “Hello. I am Tom Riddle. I want to welcome you to Slytherin.”

Rubeus was loud, and not that bright in class, but his smile reminded him of Alphard, and that wouldn't have been enough, but he was great with magical creatures. That had come in conversation very fast, and he had shown Tom a porlock that he had raised almost since birth and smuggled into Hogwarts to live in the Forest.  
That reminded him of Nagini, but Tom wouldn't show Rubeus Nagini, of course. Not yet, anyway.   
“I'm gonna go in the Forest soon” he told Tom. “Sure there are wonderful creatures there!” He beamed. “There's a forest near my Da's o' course, but this one...” he thumped on a tree, which shook a little. “Sure feels magical.”   
Tom perked up in interest. It had felt magical to him too, but not before he had even entered it. Maybe this boy really was gifted for all that had to do with creatures and nature.   
“There are centaurs in the Forest, though. They don't like wizards coming near them.”  
“Oh.” Rubeus frowned briefly. “I'm sure I could talk them into it. There's no harm in wanting to be friends with all those that live there! I'm gonna wait a little, though.” He looked dejectedly at the enclosure for Care of Magical Creatures. “I wish I could take this class now. You taking it?”  
Tom nodded.  
“Well, o' course you do. 'tis the best class in all of Hogwarts.” he beamed. “Sure hope they show you dragons one day!”  
“I don't think so. It's quite a shame.”  
“Yeah... “ Rubeus ran his hand through his hirsute hair. “Sure wish I knew a dragon. They're the best.”  
“Do you want to work in a dragon reserve after Hogwarts?”  
Rubeus became uncharasterically serious. “I don't think so. I want them to live free, not in a reserve. I want to raise creatures, not keep them hidden away from everything.”

Tom was convinced Rubeus really didn't know that some creatures were too dangerous. He couldn't grasp that. Looking at his size, though, he could understand why. He probably hadn't met anything that could be as much a danger to him as it was to others.  
And if he really was part giant (he must be, Tom thought), he was also more resistant to magic, be it from spells or creatures.   
He wondered if his gift with creatures was because he was part creature – or being that wasn't human, anyway.   
“Maybe we can go into the Forest, but avoid the centaurs territory” he ventured. He was still vexed he hadn't explored it last year. “I'm not sure how to know when we're trespassing, though.”  
Rubeus beamed at him. “Ya have to feel it. 'tis not complicated. I'll show ya, then.” he stomped towards the Forest, and Tom shot after him.  
He hadn't meant right now, but no time like the present, right?

Rubeus moved deftly in the forest, his feet somehow not crushing anything despite how huge they were. This was his element, Tom realized – a Forest heavy with magic and full of life.   
He stopped from time to time to peek behind trees, and Tom tried to follow his eyes but couldn't see anything.  
“I think we better stop 'here.” Rubeus said finally, when they reached a clearing that looked no different to Tom than the rest of the Forest. “See how bright the forest gets? 'tis to warn away. Here's safe, but after that...” He shrugged.   
Tom had noticed how bright the Forest got even the last time he was there, but he hadn't understood the warning. His respect for Rubeus grew again.

*

Alphard cornered him in their dormitory that night. He had managed to avoid him for two weeks, but he was distracted by his trip into the Forest, and he hadn't seen him coming.  
“I don't need secret friends” Tom sneered, again.  
“Then let's be public friends.” Alphard said. That shut him up. “I miss you, Tom. I really miss you.” Alphard smiled sadly at him. “I don't want to lie anymore. Not to my parents. And not to you.” He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were full of anguished determination. “It's always been you, Tom. I fell in love with you in our First year, I realized in Herbology, when you were enjoying yourself playing in the dirt and tried so hard to act all dignified and distant.” Tom was too shell-shocked to answer. “I know you're not interested, but maybe if I say it I can move on. I am in love with you, Tom. You are everything.” He closed his eyes. “I hope you won't hate me, or leave me alone. But I would understand.”  
“You love me?” Tom heard himself say, from very far away. Alphard's words seemed to have stripped all his barriers from him, and he only numbly felt his own body. “I have never been loved before.”  
“You are loved, Tom. I love you – more than is wise. Your other friends love you, and Dumbledore loves you, I'm pretty sure, each in their own way.” Alphard still wasn't looking at him.  
That was all very new to Tom. He knew that people valued him, but loved him? He blinked, and his hand found Alphard's shoulder. He needed to ground himself, and Alphard seemed to need it too.   
He realized Alphard was already forgiven before he opened his mouth. “I'm not sure. But. Anyway. I will never abandon you, Alphard. You were... “ he felt himself more firm by the second. “You were my first friend. My only friend, for years.”  
Alphard suddenly hugged him, and he awkwardly patted him on the back. He couldn't recall the last time he had been embraced.  
“I'm sorry I can't return your feelings.” Alphard let him go, and smiled at him, and Tom felt better, for the hug ending or for the smile he didn't know. “If I loved anyone like that, I'm sure it would have been you. But you're my friend. My most important friend.” he stressed. He would worry about that display of sentimentality later. “I'm not letting go of you.”

Things got back to a new normal after that. He had expected to feel awkward around Alphard, but it wasn't the case – Alphard was still Alphard. His most important friend.  
And the next morning, Alphard had got up on a chair in Slytherin's Common Room, grabbing everyone's attention, and said: “Alphard Black is friends with blood-traitors and muggleborns.” Walburga had got a murderous look on her face, but he breezed past it. “If you don't like it, it's the same. An heir of the Noble and Ancient House of Black loves mudbloods!” he almost yelled, and it rang through the Common Room.

“Father will be very angry, but Mother will calm him down” he said to Tom after that. “And even if she does not... You are more important.”  
And Tom felt loved.

*

“A parselmouth could probably find the Chamber of Secrets.” Alphard looked at him, eyes intent on his face.  
“Isn't it just myth?” Tom had never found anything pertaining to the Chamber in his exploration of the castle. “From what I found the entrance should have been in the Dungeons or somewhere close, but there's nothing there except the kitchens, so...”  
“Maybe you haven't found it yet.” Alphard leaned in closer. “But I thought of something else. The castle changes over time, you know? It's not just the stairs that move.”  
Tom nodded. “Yes. Some things do seem out of place.”  
“Yes. My Mother told me, the castle is slightly different every generation of wizards – sometimes you notice the changes as they happens, or most of the time you think that you just didn't notice a room was there.” Alphard was talking animatedly now, his hands moving as he spoke. “It's like so much magic and wizards in one place made the castle alive, or the Founders made it alive in the first place? I don't think that's the case, but anyway, it's somehow alive now – a millenia of magic does have an impact.”  
“So... You think the entrance of the Chamber really exists, and that it's somewhere random in the castle.”  
Alphard nodded. “Basically, yes. I do think it can only be opened by a parselmouth, so... “  
“So there's a snake somewhere. I thought that much already.” Tom folded his hands, in an unconscious imitation of Dumbledore. “I already tried to say “open” or “talk to me” to all the snakes I saw painted or sculpted in the castle, of course.” Alphard mouthed “of course” while rolling his eyes, but Tom didn't notice. “There isn't that many. Maybe there are more in restricted areas.”  
“You think the Restricted section of the Library?”  
Tom smiled. “Maybe. Or a professor's quarters. Or a storeroom. Or the Headmaster's office. Or” his eyes fell on the stairs to the girl's dormitory. “maybe just an area restricted to boys. I haven't checked the girls' dormitories or... lavatories” He cleared his throat, embarrassed. “They should be the easiest to check, though.” He sighed. He would have liked to go to the Restricted section. Even Slughorn wouldn't make a pass for a third-year student.   
“Yes. We can always go to the forbidden places later” Alphard soothed, understanding his friend.  
Tom was a little rasserened.

They say Slytherin's monster was a snake, and that it's there to kill the mudbloods of the castle.” He looked at his hands. “My blood isn't pure. A pure-blood isn't raised in a Muggle orphanage. That just can't happen. Maybe I'm even a – a mudblood, after all.”  
He looked at the castle. Nagini was uncharasterically silent. “I want to be the Heir of Slytherin. I want to open the Chamber. I want to rub it in the face of those who think only pure-bloods belong in Slytherin.” And that wasn't even only for him. This was new for him, to care about someone else – someone weaker than him. Because Rubeus was big, and strong, and sensitive to magic and creatures, but in the castle where they lived, he was clumsy and oblivious and so low on the Slytherin social ladder that mattered to upper-years and the wealthiest of them, the ones whose families had a lot of power out there and even in there.  
“The Great One.” Nagini said reverently.  
“What?”  
“The one who you talk about. The sssnakes here know him too. It'ss the Great One. Assleep under the casstle.” She swayed a little. “He's there to protect, that'ss what they ssay. I can feel him, sssometimesss. A huge life.” She looked straight at him, and he felt unnerved by her stare.  
“I will find him, and I will talk to him. I'll ask if he's there to kill wizards that are not pure bloods, or to protect the casssstle.”  
“And the Foressst.” Nagini hissed quietly.  
“Do you want to come with me?”  
“No. You ssshouldn't disssturb the Great One either. He ssleeeps.”  
He got up and dusted his dust-less knees. “I will find him anyway.”  
Nagini tasted the air, and said nothing.

It was pretty anticlimatic, when they noticed an engraved snake on one of the girls' lavatories. They went back at night, creeping through the corridors, so they could try to open it and not have a girl stumbling upon them – they had been lucky as it already was.  
Tom wasn't sure it was what they were looking for, but it was a snake he hadn't tried, and when he hissed “Open” at it, the faucet disappeared into the wall, and in its place there was a large pipe. They peered through it, their wands casting Lumos as far away as they could.  
“Seems like a long drop. Like a huge slide – and dirty, too.” Tom touched the wall, and his hand came back darkened with grime. He couldn't feel disgust right now though – he was too busy being impatient, his heart pounding under his ribcage.  
“We can go down, even with the dirt, but how would we get up there again?”  
“Stairs?” Tom hissed, with not much hope. Nothing happened, and he clicked his tongue impatiently. “Can you go get your broom?”  
Alphard nodded and slipped back out. While he waited, Tom tried to see what was at the end of the tunnel, but to no avail.  
After what seemed like hours, Alphard came back, breathing hard.   
“I ran all the way here.” he whispered excitedly. “Let's go!”  
Tom mounted the broom behind him and they shot downwards. They were soon on the ground again.  
“We must be under the castle.” Alphard said, as he lit his wand. “Not under the Lake, I think, though – we're not that deep.”  
“Yes. I actually talked with Nagini – she said that there is a great snake asleep under the castle.”  
Alphard looked a little pale. “Now that we're here – do you think it's really a good idea?”  
He didn't. He felt quite afraid himself. “Let's not wake up the snake.” he allowed. “But there's no harm in looking around.”  
He went forward through the tunnel, and after an hesitation he heard Alphard fall into step behind him.   
It was dirty, but not as dirty as he expected from something a millenia old. It had probably been maintained after that, even if the present day it was forgotten.   
They advanced in silence, the tunnel large enough for them to go side by side. He felt his fingers brush Alphard's sometimes, and welcomed the reassurance, even as he wouldn't acknowledge it.   
They finally arrived in front of a huge door with sculpted snakes on it. It was magnificent, and the eyes gleamed in the wandlight.  
He opened his mouth, but Alphard put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you really sure about this?”  
“Yes.” He looked at the stone door. “I can't leave a door unopened. If you want to go back and wait for me at the entrance, you can.”  
Alphard seemed to brace himself. “I'm staying with you. I'm not a Gryffindor but – they say you make your true friends in Slytherin.” He took back his hand and gave a shaky smile to Tom. “It was my idea, to search for the Chamber, anyway.”  
Tom turned back to the door. “Open”, he hissed.  
The door immediately pivoted, revealing a huge chamber basked in green light – not sickly-green, but a light green that illuminated the place.  
They slowly went into it, casting glances everywhere.  
“I don't see any snake.” Alphard said, relief evident in his tone.  
“Me neither.”  
There was a huge statue in the center of the room. Its eyes seemed to follow them.   
Alphard was looking back at it, contemplative, as Tom looked around the room. There was nothing he could see – a huge room, basked in light, with huge pillars. Either the secrets were even more hidden, or they had been stolen, or there weren't any to begin with.  
“I think that's Salazar Slytherin” said Alphard. Tom went back to where he was. “And see the mouth of the statue? The stone looks a little different around the lips. I think he can open his mouth.”  
“Open” Tom hissed. The statue didn't move.  
“Maybe there's a password, or something. Or maybe you have to be ready.” He shivered. “If the snake's in there, I don't want it to open.”  
Tom thought about it some more. “I will come back, with or without you.” he decided imperiously. “But thanks for coming with me.” he allowed.  
Alphard didn't meet his eyes. “I'll always come with you. And we need my broom, right?” He yawned, and Tom found he was quite tired himself.  
“Let's go back.”  
They turned, went back through the stone doors, and right into Albus Dumbledore who was running towards them.

*

They had both gotten detention for a month, and Dumbledore had asked – or rather ordered – Tom to come see him in the morning.  
Which was why he was here, in the professor's office, his hands behind his back and his face unreadable.  
“You were reckless, Tom.” Albus said firmly. “Did you even know what was waiting for you down there?”  
“No, sir.” That was why he had been going down in the first place. To find out.  
“You didn't even tell anyone! You went there in the middle of the night, right in an unused and rather mythical place of the castle... “ He sighed deeply. “I didn't take points, not because I think you didn't deserve it, but because I don't want this to become known.”  
“I know, sir. You swore us to secrecy already.”  
“And I know you don't get why. Will you tell me why you have been so reckless?”  
Tom considered lying. He considered redirecting the conversation, if he could.  
But Dumbledore had sheltered him. Had taken him from the orphanage. More than anything, he didn't want Dumbledore to wash his hands off him and let him go back there. He was the only one who had offered Tom a home.  
Besides, maybe the truth would be more understandable to him than a lie.  
“I wanted to show everyone that you can be someone with impure blood and still be worthy of Slytherin.” He raised his chin.”I wanted to find the Chamber of Secrets, and talk to Slytherin's monster, and rub it right in their faces. I'm brilliant, I'm the best student in my year, and possibly better than the fourth years and some fifth years, but it's not enough for them.” His breath came out in angry puffs. He knew he was angry, but he hadn't realized the depth of his anger. “It's never enough. I'm better than them, and they look down at me and call me Mudblood when they think I can't hear. I can't find anything about my father, or my mother's father, but it shouldn't matter.” He tightened his fists until his knuckles turned white. “There's a first-year Slytherin that they look at even more contemptuously than at me. He may not be like a full wizard, I'm pretty sure he really is half giant even if he won't say anything, but he's brilliant. He knows magic. He knows creatures, and he's enthusiastic about them – he will become great. He's Slytherin.” He looked into Dumbledore's eyes. “Slytherin is about greatness, it's about becoming the best you can be – the ones that spend their days looking down on people instead of striving towards their goals – they're not Slytherin. Sir.”

He looked down then, suddenly tired. He hadn't slept much after all, and saying all this – his head was clearer, but he was winded now. He wished he could sit down, but he stayed stubbornly up.  
“I'm sorry, Tom.” Dumbledore also looked very tired, and old. “What they say about you isn't right. The manner in which they treat you... “  
“I know it isn't right, sir. I know what I am worth.”  
Dumbledore smiled at him, but it was without mirth. “Yes, you do – such self-assurance can be a remarkable quality. I wish you didn't need it, still.”  
Tom nodded curtly.  
“I wish you had come to me earlier – and please understand it is not a reproach. Maybe I can help - “  
“You can't, sir.” Tom interrupted him. “I said that so you'd understand, not so you'd” - meddle - “interfere. It would only make it worse. I'm managing well. It's nothing.”  
Dumbledore inclined his head. “You may be managing well, but it is not nothing. What about the other students that face similar circumstances than yours? I am not Head of Slytherin, but I can talk to Horace about it, so he talks sense into his students.”  
Tom doubted Slughorn would talk sense into anyone, and it obviously showed on his face, since Dumbledore sighed and assured him, “I am sure I am quite up to the task of persuading him it is the most intelligent thing to do.”  
“Don't” Tom stressed again. He licked his lips, and burrowed his nails into his palms. “I'm only a third year now, and not worth much consideration, but I will show them. I will become the best student Slytherin has ever had. I will become prefect. I will change things. I will make Slytherin better. Rubeus isn't noticing any of this, or not much, but I will take care of him until I can make Slytherin better.”  
“This is a bold claim, Tom.” Dumbledore looked at him intently. “I am going to trust you. But I want you to talk to me about all of this, before it comes down to – going down seeking a monster in the middle of the night.”  
Tom grimaced – that hadn't been smart – but nodded.   
He would become who he was meant to be, he had always known that. But who he was meant to be had changed.   
He had a guardian. He had friends. He had someone to protect – someone who could become a friend, he suspected.  
He was sure he could do everything he needed alone, but for everything children like him, Slytherins that were seen as dirt by other Slytherins, needed... He had to take the help that was offered.  
He'd change Slytherin. And when he was done with that, he'd change the wizarding world. He had no doubt he could do it – it was an incommensurable task, but Tom had never balked at difficulty. He had been the child who could do impossible things back in the orphanage, and that certainty, that he could do the impossible, had never left him. It was a strong sense of self, self-assurance, and plain old arrogance.  
He couldn't wait to get started.  
“You're going to be late to class.” Dumbledore warned. His eyes twinkled. “I am proud of you, Tom. But you do still have detention.Try not to make me afraid like this again.”

*

Care of Magical Creatures was great. He excelled in more academic disciplines – Transfiguration, Charms – even History of Magic, even if the professor was so old that Tom was sure he was going to die any day now, and most of all he was so boring that he had to fight to stay awake... But he really had fun where the class made something. Herbology. Potions. And now Care of Magical Creatures.  
More than the class, he found he enjoyed talking about the class with Rubeus after, the younger wizard looking at him avidly and absorbing all the information, and sometimes offering insights for projects or papers. He had an unbelievable intuition for Magical Creatures, and Tom was beginning to suspect it was because he loved them to the same degree that Tom loved magic.  
Tom was interested in magical creatures, but mostly because they were magical. Rubeus loved them because they were creatures, and they were alive, and he wanted to take care of them. He had the most nurturing nature he had seen in an eleven-years-old boy, and sometimes he wondered why he made Slytherin – and then Rubeus would talk about wanting to raise XXXX creatures that made your hair rise on your neck, and he would see the ambition that he must have for that, and he understood again.

*

The first Hogsmeade week-end was now, and Tom felt a little stressed. The professor wouldn't be there, but he had told Tom that he may of course visit the house, and bring friends if he wished.  
He wanted to check the garden, and he already knew Hogsmeade. Alphard was interested in visiting Tom's home, at least for a quick tour, and he felt self-conscious when they arrived there. He knew Alphard's house was huge, and his was a lot more modest – more than sufficient, but nothing compared to the Black properties.  
He liked this little house, though. It wasn't in the village proper, and that really was a plus. They walked the cobblestone path to the door, Alphard looking left and right.  
“There's a garden at the back. It's larger than it appears. I want to check on it; there are plants there that we haven't studied in Herbology yet, but I've planted them.”  
“Any that spit poison?” Alphard inquired.  
“The professor refused that. But there are cool-looking ones.”

He turned the large key, and they entered. The professor maintained the house during the year, so it wasn't disused at all, and there was some food in the cupboards, he was glad to see. Maybe the professor had even put it there for them to find.  
“Want some cake? Or lemon drops.”  
Alphard pulled a face. “You and Dumbledore both. I'll take cake.” He munched on it and looked around. “It's smaller than my house, but it's a lot lighter. And there are no House-elves heads on the walls.”  
“What?” Tom shrieked.  
“Yeah, it's pretty gross. Do you want to show me your room?”  
“Yes. And the potions lab.”  
The garden was healthy and well, as he checked. He taped his foot around the plants, to make more worms come, but otherwise didn't have any maintaining to do. He patted the mimbulus mimbletonia softly – he had transplanted it this summer and it seemed to grow well.   
The potions lab was pristine, and he let Alphard tinker with the crystal vials. The professor liked to use fancy ones – the professor liked fancy, in general.  
When they got to his room, Alphard flopped on the bed and sighed. “I'm tired. You have a nice house.”  
Tom inclined his head in thanks.  
“I thought you would have more books in your room.”  
Tom shrugged. “Well there's a library already. I usually read there, or when I read elsewhere I bring the book back to the library after that.”  
“Always tidy and organized.”  
“Yes.”  
“Do you want to go for a butterbeer?”  
“I thought you were tired.”  
“Not for butterbeer.” Alphard grinned.  
He double-checked that he had closed the house right, and patted the door when Alphard wasn't looking. This started to feel like home, and maybe it could be a good thing.

The Three Broomsticks was new, and it was packed. Last summer it had been a nondescript place that an affable newcomer had bought, and now it was open and ready for business, and Hogwarts students loved it.   
It was certainly cleaner than The Hog's Head, and the patron didn't look like he rather wished his tavern to be empty. Dumbledore always avoided The Hog's Head, but on the rare occasions Tom had set foot in there, he had felt like the owner wished he would go anywhere else – and it wasn't clean enough for him. He hadn't gone there often, but this looked different.   
It was warm, and you could lose yourself in the crowd if you wanted – but if he stood straighter and commanding... Yes, there, he got noticed. He smiled and opened a Butterbeer. 

*

There was a giant snowfight again before the Christmas holidays. Tom knew. He had been among the ones to organize it.  
He invited all the Muggleborns, and he sought out Mary and Oliver outside of the summer holidays for the first time.   
He had thought he would be a good way to start to build relationships, but he had not envisioned the idea that he would just plain have fun.  
Rubeus, with his huge frame, provided a good cover. It was supposed to be no teams, everyone on their own, but Tom had no problem not playing fair, and Rubeus was glad to help his friend even if it meant cheating.   
Under cover, he erected a wall of ice with a flick of his wand, and shoot snowballs at everything that moved. He was winning, if you could win a giant snowfight at all, and he was laughing every time one of his snowballs hit its mark.   
A mountain of snow suddenly fell on him, and he yelped, before being soon yanked out of it by a strong arm. He spluttered as Rubeus beamed at him. “Got ye. We weren't a team anyway, ya kow?”  
He felt a rising hot anger in his chest, but Rubeus beamed at him and looked proud of himself, and he had had fun. He swallowed it.  
“Very Slytherin move.” Not by any mean subtle, but a little devious, and it had worked. “Good work.” He patted Rubeus awkwardly on the stomach since he couldn't reach his shoulder.  
“Ya downed like half of the people by yerself anyway.”  
He preened a little. “I did, didn't I?”  
Alphard came back towards them, his hair white with snow. “There's talk of going into the Great Hall en masse and beg for hot chocolate before dinner. I think it's interesting talk.”  
Tom quite agreed, and Rubeus let out a whoop of joy, and they went with the others to the Great Hall.

Tom had changed. He wasn't a cold, hard child anymore.

He was a child on the path to Light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might do a sequel, I might not. Please tell me if there is interest.  
> In any case it won't be for a while, I want to get back to other things :)   
> I think I have finished what I set out to do with that fic though, which was saving Tom.
> 
> I would like kudos and nice comments, if you want to leave any!


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